


Violet Blue

by Teroe



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Clexa Halloween Week, F/F, Kid Fic, aka werewolf moms clarke and lexa learning how to live life in the suburbs with five werewolf kids, and others - Freeform, just clarke and lexa as werewolf moms with a bunch of kids, my excuse to shove as many cute things into one story as i can, this is NOT abo for anyone wondering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-01-25 09:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 61,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12527980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teroe/pseuds/Teroe
Summary: General wolf rules for life: Eat. Rest. Rove in between. Render loyalty. Love the children. Cavil in moonlight. Tune your ears. Attend to the bones. Make love. Howl often.Clarissa Pinkola EstesorBeing moms is hard. Being werewolf moms in the suburbs is even harder.





	1. October

**Author's Note:**

> updates monthly, hope you enjoy this very self indulgent au

 

 

“I just don’t know about this, Lexa.”

“We live in the suburbs, Clarke, we’re the most dangerous things here,” you say, stepping in close to trap her between yourself and the kitchen counter, cupping her cheeks in your hands. She stubbornly refuses to look you in the eyes and it makes you smile. “This is a nice neighborhood and the full moon is literally two whole days away. There’s nothing to worry about.”

She looks at you now, a little bit of fear and reluctance clouding her eyes. You kiss her lightly on the tip of her nose and then softly on her lips and she curls her hands at your waist, keeping you close.

“The kids deserve a little bit of fun,” you mutter, noses touching.

“But something could go wrong.”

“We took that chance moving here. I know it’s not the woods, Clarke, but we can’t keep them from a harm we’re not even sure exists.”

You pull away when your ears pick up movement over in the living room and you glance over your shoulder, but you see nothing out of place. The lumps piled in blankets on the floor are still soundly sleeping and Clarke is waiting for you when you turn back around.

“They need to know how to deal with the real world or they won’t make it.”

“So your solution is to go trick or treating with them dressed as werewolves? Why don’t we just pee on every fire hydrant on the block.”

You narrow your eyes at her and she flinches at her own words. She leans forward to hide her face in the crook of your neck, a whine building low in her throat. “I’m sorry.” She exhales a shaky sigh and you can feel the warmth of her breath on your neck. “I just... They’re our kids and I don’t want them to get hurt.”

You rest your head against hers. “They’re strong. They’ll make it.”

“They’re all barely four,” Clarke counters, but she keeps her head where it is, tucked comfortably where your scent is the strongest and you can sense the spiral she’s about to sink into and maybe in retrospect that wasn’t the best thing to say. “Madi just turned eighteen months--”

“They’ll be okay.”

“They can’t even eat chocolate, Lexa.”

You can’t help quirking a smile at her expense. “You know that’s not true. In small doses it’s perfectly fine.”

She thumps her forehead onto your shoulder and you wrap you arms around her, swaying slightly in the silence of your kitchen. The quiet never lasts, at least not in this house, so you both learn to savor it.

“We’ll be with them the entire way,” you say, placing a kiss near her temple.

“Okay.” Clarke’s exhale is lost into your shirt and you hold her tighter.

 

* * *

 

“Jack sit still please,” Clarke says as she works furry gloves tipped with little fake claws on tiny hands. The five of them sit on your couch in various forms of dress and at least they're all happy and full from dinner (a beef stew recipe Clarke learned from her parents and it is to die for). Unfortunately that doesn’t make it any easier for you.

Madi giggles as you tug a furry hood with wolf ears down over her blonde hair and over her eyes, and you kiss her cheek before pulling it back up. “Hands, please,” you say, holding out your own and she pats hers against yours until you manage to hold her still to slip on the matching gloves.

Aden is next, the oldest of the five, and he is eager to please. He insists on putting the hat on himself and then helps you with the furry vest, putting his arms through the sleeves as you try to slip on his shoes. Patiently, he waits for you to zip him up and then holds out his hands for the gloves, clapping excitedly once they’re on.

Clarke lets you finish dressing Lily, reaching behind her for the container of kid’s face paint on the coffee table. She dips the brush into the black paint, starting at the far end with Danny, and paints the tip of her nose black. A curl finds her lips slowly until she’s grinning mischievously with her daughter as she adds whiskers across plump cheeks.

Danny growls playfully around her smile and you watch Clarke gently bump their foreheads together. “Easy there tiger. Save that energy for the walk home.”

You turn away just as Clarke finishes with Danny and you know you’ve been caught staring, but all Clarke does is lean over to place a kiss along your jaw before picking up where she left off.

“I want fangs,“ Jack demands, bouncing in his seat, jostling his sisters next to him, and Clarke tweaks his nose gently. He’s quick to hide his neck in preparation for tickles, but the torture never follows.

“You’ve already got those, buddy. You don’t need another pair.”

His pout only lasts a second or two before he forgets, the cold paint causing him to lean away, but Clarke chases after him with the brush, and his squeals are more laughter than anything else.

You sit beside her, content to watch as Madi holds two of your fingers captive in her gloved hands. She plays with them, turning them over to study them, and when Clarke moves from Lily to Aden you have to stop her from putting your fingers into her mouth and teething.

Clarke laughs softly beside you, cheeks dimpled as she tries to stop herself from smiling, but it doesn’t last and the sound is easily one of the prettiest things you have the pleasure of hearing.

Little Madi is last and she giggles her way through the paint Clarke applies to her nose and cheeks. You hold her hands so she doesn’t try to touch it while it dries and Clarke finally caps the paint with a satisfied nod of her head, surveying the results that line the couch, and while there’s straying hands and impatient squirming, you’d consider it an overwhelming success.

You find her eyes, offering a wide approving smile and she reaches out to run her fingers through your hair, pulling it back from your face and you lean into the touch. “Let me get changed and we can head out.”

You nod without really thinking, watching as Clarke stands. She stretches her arms above her head, back arching and her loose long-sleeve shirt riding up to expose the strip of skin above her sweatpants. She patters away, disappearing around the corner, and her footsteps echo on the hardwood of the stairs.

With Clarke gone, you’re the sole point of attention. Five pairs of eyes lock onto you and you lean forward from your recline against the coffee table, taking a moment to regard each one.

“You’re all going to behave, right?”

Aden nods enthusiastically, Jack bobs his head reluctantly, and Danny and Lily eye you like you’ve spoken to them in a different language. Madi has found your fingers again, gurgling quietly to herself, but you think she gets the gist.

Clarke returns wearing snug black jeans, carding her fingers through the mess of her hair and it’s wavy from being up all day, falling over her shoulders in gentle waves. She has four pillow cases, two she probably stole straight from your bed, and Jack scrambles from the couch, Aden, Danny, and Lily quick to follow. You haul yourself to your feet, picking Madi up and balancing her on your hip. She clutches at the sleeve of your tee and you kiss her forehead.

“You guys ready for a quick lap around the neighborhood?” Clarke asks, and a chorus of excited tiny voices is her answer. She crouches to hand each of them a pillow case, folding the edges back a few times so they’re not as long and then pushes off her knees to stand.

You wander closer until you’re just shy of touching her and it’s a simple thing to lean over and kiss her cheek.

The sun is just barely there when the lot of you manage to pile out of the house, Madi now tucked safely against Clarke’s front, cheek smushed on Clarke's shoulder and probably ready for another nap. You’re left with the pups, and the second you’re clear of the porch you dart off down the driveway and the stampede of little feet is quick to follow.

The road is quiet, no cars, and you inhale a deep breath of fresh air, the brisk october wind tugging your hair. You glance behind you, and the sight of the little ones bumbling quickly behind you, little legs working hard to catch up, makeshift bags trailing behind them in the breeze, is an image you hope stays with you forever.

 

* * *

 

You don’t stumble into bed until after midnight. After the kids are washed and teeth are brushed and they’re tucked in bed sound asleep. You change languidly, slipping into one of Clarke’s old worn t-shirts and stripping out of your pants, kicking them into the hamper in your closet.

Clarke isn’t far behind, dressed more comfortably in sweats, but she always did run colder than you. She lingers by your side, an arm slung low around your waist as you brush your teeth in the master bathroom. You smile at the sight of her in the mirror, her weight leaning heavily on you, and you knock your toothbrush on the rim of the sink before returning it to the cup beside the faucet and her head lifts from your shoulder.

“Can you make it to bed?” you tease, turning in the space she allows you until your face to face and you tilt your head to capture her lips gently with yours.

She hums low in her throat, her smile evident in the way she kisses you back, nipping lightly at your bottom lip. “With the right motivation maybe,” she says, pressing herself close, chest to chest.

You stumble out of the bathroom tripping over your own feet, giggling amid the random kisses pressed hastily to skin. The back of Clarke’s knees hit the edge of the mattress and you’re pulled willingly on top of her. Her hair's a mess against your dark sheets, cheeks flushed, and her hands find the curve of your back and the muscles there.

“The Jeffersons think we’re crazy,” Clarke mutters, tilting her head back. Your lips roam over her neck, open mouthed kisses that are more for you and the sensation of her skin. You’re only half paying attention.

“Let them,” you say, taking a moment to breathe, nosing at that spot just under her ear. She smells like candy and the kids and crisp october air. “They’re merely jealous”

Clarke laughs softly, her hands inching their way further under your shirt, her nails a gentle graze over your skin. You pull away slightly and her blue eyes seem to shine in the soft glow of your room. She lifts her head to kiss the tip of your chin before settling back against the sheets and you breathe out through your nose, feeling much too warm.

“Where’s all this optimism coming from, hmm?” she asks.

“I figured it was about time, don’t you think?” you say, looking down at her. She removes her left hand from under your shirt, reaching to tuck the errant strands of your hair back behind your ear. “We can build a future here. _Our_ children can flourish here. Isn’t that what we’ve been after?”

She wraps her arms around your neck and drags you close and there’s something a little desperate in the way your lips meet. You exhale noisily through your nose, held up barely by your forearms bracketing her head and you can feel her breathe against you, but there’s a want in you to be closer, to have her all around you and it might be impossible, but that won’t stop you from trying.

 

 

 


	2. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which i severely underestimate how hard it is to write five kids.

 

 

“Mrs. Jefferson came up to me today,” Clarke begins, the both of you standing hip to hip at the sink cleaning the mess dinner left. The kids doze off on the couch, a movie playing softly on the television.

“And what did Mrs. Jefferson want?” you say, handing Clarke a plate that she dries absently and then places with the others.

“She said Chloe saw a big dog wandering around our backyard.”

It’s a testament to your self-control that the bowl in your hand doesn’t slip from your fingers and plunge back into the kitchen sink. Your face is impassive, cool and controlled, but the time it takes for you to respond is more than enough for Clarke.

“Lexa.”

“I wasn’t caught unaware, Clarke, I took a risk.”

“And you failed,” Clarke says.

You turn to shoot her a glare, but you spot that curl to the corner of her mouth and you soften immediately at the unexpected amusement playing across her face.

“I didn’t think she’d see me,” you confess, handing Clarke the bowl and she leans into your side, chuckling. “It’s not funny.”

“Kinda.” she says, kissing your shoulder. “Chloe wants to know if you’re friendly. Her mother is more worried about whether or not you have your shots.”

Clarke laughs at the affronted look that crosses your face, putting aside the bowl to snake an arm around your waist and tug you close, thumb dipping below the waistline of your sweatpants. Your hands find her hips, still sudsy from the water, and she kisses your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, and you know what she’s doing and it’s working.

“Her mother asked me if it was okay for Chloe to come over and say hello,” Clarke says, her lips finally finding yours in a brief kiss. “Her father’s allergic, so they can’t have pets and--”

“And you want me to play the part? I’m the farthest thing from a house pet, Clarke.”

Her arms wrap loosely around your neck and you brush your nose against hers. “You’re basically a big german shepard.”

“A german shepard, Clarke? You insult me.”

‘Is that a no?”

“No.”

“No you don’t want to or no it’s not a no.”

You kiss her lightly on the lips and she lets you go when you pull away, fishing for the dish cloth in the luke-warm water to finish off the last of the dishes still soaking in the sink. “What are you going to tell the kids?”

“Is there something I should tell them? Besides to behave?”

You laugh at that. “They’re not exactly…” you trail off though, unable to find the right word.

Her arms circle your waist and you feel her against your back. “What was it you said about taking risks?”

“I said they were strong. There’s a difference.”

“Difference between what.”

“Recognizing that there are times when I can and can’t be their mom,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly tough spot of caked on spaghetti sauce. Simply the thought of having to ignore them for the sake of humans and a world that isn’t ready for you is outrageous to you. “They’re toddlers, Clarke, they wouldn’t know any better. And they shouldn’t have to.”

She gives a you reassuring squeeze. “Then we’ll just make sure they’re preoccupied.”

“All because one little girl likes dogs?”

“You’d make her day.”

You huff under your breath, shaking your head as you place the last plate in the clean sink to drip dry. “Fine,” you concede and Clarke pulls you back against her, pressing her forehead to the middle of your back

“You have such a soft spot for kids it’s unbelievable.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” you joke despite the serious tone to your voice and Clarke laughs.

“Not a soul.”

 

* * *

 

You’re waiting patiently by the entryway to the kitchen when Clarke goes to let Mrs. Jefferson in, a sleeping Madi draped over her shoulder and the other’s napping in the playroom. Chloe trails behind by just a smidge, holding her mother’s hand. She’s no older than your kids, four at the most and maybe as tall as Lily, with curly hair and large brown eyes and a cute little striped sweater. You trot over to Clarke’s side as the pleasantries are made, claws clacking against the floor, and take seat at her side.

When Chloe spots you her eyes go wide with wonder. Mrs. Jefferson jumps. “--good lord.” The hand at her heart gradually lowers, but the apprehension is more than apparent in her eyes. “And this is?”

“Heda,” Clarke supplies and if you could roll your eyes you would. She’s quick to follow up with, “My mother’s german shepard. We’re dog sitting for the week.”

“A little big for a german shepard.” Mrs Jefferson muses. “He’s good with kids?”

“She’s great,” Clarke says, the unsaid obviously hanging between them.

You’re only paying half attention to the conversation around you, focused mainly on the little girl partially hidden behind her mother’s legs. She stares at you and you wag your tail, letting your tongue loll out of your mouth. You feel more than a little ridiculous, but she giggles, clutching tighter at her mother’s pants, and it’s worth it.

“Can I, momma? Can I?”

Mrs. Jefferson eyes you suspiciously, but after one look at Clarke, who smiles and gestures encouragingly, she leads her daughter closer. You lay down, stretching lazily, and then rest your head on your paws. Chloe seems unsure of what to do now that she’s close, and she looks back to her mother before squatting in front of you. Her hands are small, covered partially by her sweater sleeves, and when she reaches out to pat you lightly on the head you’re reminded just how precious children are.

“Good dog,” she says seriously, and you hear Clarke try to stifle her giggles against Madi’s cheek.

 

* * *

 

Clarke and Mrs. Jefferson move into the kitchen to chat, but they keep an eye on you and Chloe from their seats at the table. Not that they need to. You’re more than capable of watching her by yourself even in this form, but that’s not exactly something you can say. She sits between your front paws, reaching for your ears that you flick away from her grasp and running her little fingers through your thick fur. She’s as gentle as human children can be, which is far more than you’re used to. What with every one of your children besides possibly Lily feeling the need to test all their boundaries with their teeth. It’s a welcome change of pace to be sure.

You nudge her with your nose when she tugs a little too hard, the coldness causing her to recoil giggling, and that’s the moment Danny chooses to come hurtling from the other room, roused awake from her nap by who knows what but certainly feeling a bit left out.

“Danny!” Clarke yelps, bolting upright from her chair, Madi still held close, and in some form of a miracle is able to snag her daughter by the back of her shirt before she barrels headlong into your side.

“Momma!” she says, directed at you, eyes pleading as if you’ll free her from Clarke’s grasp.

“Is at work and will be back later just like she promised,” Clarke says, holding fast, and the glance she shares with you is uncanny in its resemblance to Danny’s. Imploring. You’re not sure what they think you can do.

Danny goes limp, her frown large and exaggerated, and Clarke’s grip loosens in stages until she allows Danny to wriggle free. Your daughter stumbles over to you, sidling up close to rub her face in your fur. Chloe eyes her warily and you shift to nudge Danny with your nose, licking at her cheeks and she presses closer.

“Do you like dogs too?” Chloe whispers, and Danny peeks from your fur, giving a small nod.

“Yeah,” she says, just as soft, fingers threaded tightly through your fur, holding on.

Chloe smiles brightly at the admittance and you hear Clarke sigh. You turn to watch as she settles back into her chair, rubbing Madi’s back. You know she’ll be hungry soon but so does Clarke.

She places Madi down gently when she begins to wiggle a few minutes later and she hobbles over the moment she’s stable on her feet. Her steps are uneven and a bit clumsy, and she drapes herself over you, giggling. you flop onto your side with a dramatic huff. Clarke likes to say you baby them, but who doesn’t like to be warm.

Clarke invites Mrs. Jefferson and Chloe to stay for a little snack but the offer is politely declined. You can hear your children in the other room slowly rousing from their naps. Mrs. Jefferson picks herself up from her chair to retrieve Chloe from where she’s found a spot next to Danny, babbling intently as the both of them lounge against you, Madi playing with your paws.

Chloe stops mid sentence when her mother hoists her up, taken aback by the sudden predicament. “No,” she pouts, cheeks puffed and squirming. From what you can see, Danny looks just as disappointed.

“I’m sure Mrs. Woods will let us visit Heda again sometime.”

“Clarke,” your wife insists, a small smile toying at her lips. “You can call me Clarke.”

Mrs. Jefferson smiles, adjusting Chloe on her hip. “Thank you again, Clarke.”

“Anytime,” Clarke says, glancing at you before walking them to the door.

You sigh, a whine building in your throat as you stretch. Standing up takes a bit of wiggling, though. Danny clings when you’re like this, but you growl playfully and she takes the hint, giving you space to clamber to your feet. You give a whole body shake, enjoying the aftermath as you watch Madi attempt to replicate the action with little success. She ends up toppled over on the carpet but at least it looks like she’s having fun.

You peer around the corner into the hall to make sure the Jeffersons are gone and then climb the stairs to your room, nosing open the door and padding across the room to the dresser. The shifting feels natural, a mindless stretch and an ache in the joints of your limbs. You remember when it used to be painful, but those memories feel far away now.

The door creaks as you slip a t-shirt over your head, pulling it down over your bare thighs, but you’d know Clarke’s footsteps anywhere. It’s an unintentionally quiet presence, soft as she slips an arm around your waist, her other hand pulling your hair gently from where it's still tucked under the collar of your shirt. She brushes the mass over your right shoulder, her lips finding where your shoulder and neck meet.

“Next time I’ll be the dog and you can entertain the parents.”

You chuckle, placing a hand over Clarke’s. “I don’t know, I quite liked it.”

“Softie,” she mutters against your skin before picking up her head and kissing your cheek. Her arms falls from your waist, giving your butt a light pat, and you turn to watch her over your shoulder. “Steak sound good for dinner?”

“Is that even a real question?” you say, unable to hold back your grin.

Clarke doesn’t even bother trying. “Put on some pants. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

You turn away mouth stretched wide in a smile and you take your time, rummaging through the drawers for a pair of sweatpants, and you pull them on one leg at a time. They hang loosely, and you pull the drawstring tighter as you make your way back downstairs, tying it in a simple bow and then readjusting your tee.

Clarke is surrounded when you finally pad into the kitchen. Lily has attached herself to Clarke’s left leg, thumb in her mouth as she watches Clarke stir the pot on the stove, and Jack and Danny have taken to roughhousing not two feet away. Aden however, has taken to explaining the complexities of fitting a round object into a square hole to a mostly uninterested Madi who sits in her high chair, her tray littered with brightly colored toys. She spots you near instantly and the smile she beams at you makes your heart melt.

Clarke turns at the sound of Madi’s giggles, her eyes following her daughter’s line of sight to find you and she smiles too. It’s this soft little curl, a blush clinging stubbornly to her cheeks, and she pats Lily’s head before returning to the food.

“Careful,” you say at the two by the table as you make your way over, voice a tad lower than normal, and Danny stops mid pinch. That doesn’t stop her brother from taking advantage of the distraction and digging his pointer finger into her side.

Danny yelps, pulling away. She cocks her tiny fist back as far as it will go and you lurch forward to catch it before it hits it's mark.

“Danny--” Her name comes out in a breath. “Hitting is not how we solve things.” Danny looks at you, disgruntled, and you wait a few moments before letting go of her fist. You turn to Jack next and he refuses to look you in the eye. “And the next time you do that I’ll let her hit you back and we’ll see how it feels.”

“Lexa,” comes Clarke’s voice, and you look up to see her shake her head.

You turn back to your son. “Apologize, please, Jack.”

It’s a moment, possibly two, before he says sorry very quietly and then scrambles off toward the living room by himself, finding a spot on the floor with the toys left scattered about.

“At least it looks like the biting phase is over,” Clarke says softly once you’re close and you smile in spite of yourself.

“The small victories."

 

* * *

 

There’s a slight breeze that night that carries in through your open bedroom window, the wind as it carries through the trees, curtains fluttering gently. The roads are silent past eleven o’clock, the cars this far off and distant rumble -- you can hear Clarke as she breathes, reclined next to you on the bed with a book propped on her stomach, and it’s so easy to feel lulled by it. Your arm is draped over her hips and she traces the inside of your wrist with the tips of her fingers and you can’t help the content hum that lingers deep in your throat.

“Are you at the station tomorrow?” she asks softly.

You don’t bother opening your eyes, managing a small noise of acknowledgement who knows how many minutes later, but you clear your throat afterward and say, “Early.”

“Anya need help with something?”

“There was a homicide downtown and their only lead ran off.” You grow quiet again, feeling the dip of the bed as Clarke reaches to turn off the light. She shifts with the sheets, trying to find a comfortable spot tucked close to you, and she does, settling warmly pressed to your front, head tucked under your chin and her hands seeking the heat under your shirt. The sigh she let’s out when she stills is one of pure satisfaction.

“She wants me to find him,” you mutter in the darkness and you feel her smile against you.

“Putting you to good use then,” she says, tangling her legs with yours.

“I’m good at what I do, Clarke.”

The wind picks up and she huddles closer. “Mm. The best.”

 

 


	3. December

 

 

You hear the first soft patter of feet around three when the night is still heavy and dark beyond your window, the wind shaking the pane as the snow beats against it outside. It’s little hushed whispers, Jack and Danny’s voices unmistakable even now, and you lift your head from the pillow, blinking away the sleep to watch the shadows pass by under your door.

Beside you there is a pronounced noise of displeasure as Clarke presses further into your side, grumbling as she attempts to find another comfortable spot after the sudden and unwelcome movement in the bed. And she doesn’t stop squirming until you’ve wrapped your arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

“Your kids are awake,” you whisper, settling back in, voice a tad rough, and at Clarke’s exasperated sigh you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips.

“So am I,” Clarke mutters back, a bit listless. Her breath fans across you neck, long and warm, and there’s a boneless quality to her that you can practically feel. She sinks into the mattress beneath the covers like dead weight and you know nothing short of a miracle is going to get her to move.

“Unfortunate.”

“Very,” she mumbles.

“You don’t think they’ll open the presents, do you?”

Clarke sighs, rubbing her forehead against your collar. “If they do we’ll know. The odds of them being able to copy your wrapping job is slim.”

“What does that mean?”

She shrugs, and you think she uses the motion to try and scoot herself closer. “You’re impeccable with tape.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a compliment.”

You chuckle, kissing her forehead, her cheek. She grins a little despite herself and like she says, you don’t hear anything besides the wind and the snow and the creak of the furnace as it works. There’s something else too, quiet giggles and the shuffling of presents.

“I think they know better,” Clarke says after a moment. Her fingers find your skin, tracing her nails above the waistband of your sweats. “They just want to see if they can guess.”

“Too excited to sleep?”

Clarke snorts. “Like somebody else I know.”

“I’m a light sleeper, Clarke.”

“You’re telling me like I haven’t dealt with that fact for over ten years.”

“So are you.”

“It’s a curse,” she says, and you can tell she’s smiling as she presses her lips softly to the hollow of your throat. “If you’re awake, I’m awake.”

You pick yourself up a little bit to kiss her fully, resting your weight on your forearm and dipping down. She hums and you can taste the remnants of the toothpaste on her tongue.

“Go back to sleep, Lexa,” she manages when you pull away, breath soft over your mouth. You lean in and steal another instead. “We have four hours, maybe,” another kiss, “before we’re bombarded.” and another. “I kinda want to make the most of them if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead.”

“Don’t play coy with me,” she says and you laugh. It’s a moment, her eyes searching in the darkness, but she leans forward to kiss you and you smile through it. You sink beside her with your face tucked in the crook of her neck, her pulse a slow beat just below her skin.

 

* * *

 

You get three. At 6:30 when the sun is just barely visible through your bedroom window, the door opens and the sound of tiny feet carry across your room, piling onto the bed and jostling you awake. You peek from the covers and see Lily’s face and her baby toothed grin, Jack, Danny, and Aden giggling as the drape themselves across Clarke who hides beneath the comforter.

“It’s christmas!” Jack says to the lump, plump little cheeks dimpled into a grin, Aden nodding next to him in agreement.

“Ten more minutes,” the lump answers back, but that is far from a deterrent.

“But it’s christmas!” Danny repeats, and you turn to look, Lily snuggled against you, lips quirked at the expression you find. If there was a picture next to disappointment in the dictionary it would be Danny’s face.

It’s a second before Clarke throws off the covers, hair a wild mess, and the kids squeal, a mix of laughter and screams as they scatter from the bed, Clarke hot on their heels, chasing them from the room.

You and Lily share a look and it makes you smile as you push aside the sheets. “Let’s go get your sister.”

She wraps her little arms around your neck as you sit up. You adjust her on your hip once you’re standing. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah,” she says, grinning when you lean in to kiss her cheek, her little hands curled into your t-shirt.

Lily shares a room with Madi, and you find her with her arms over the top of the (teeth-marked) railing of her crib, attempting a prison break. Sooner rather than later she’s going to do it and you’re not going to be ready for it, scrambling over so she can wrap her arms around your neck and you can use your free arm to pull her up.

“Careful.”

Madi mumbles incoherently into your neck, shaking her head and you barely make it downstairs before she starts wiggling, noticing Clarke and then the others by the tree in the living room, scouring the presents for their names. She runs that little hobbling run, throwing herself across Clarke who’s reclined on the couch and Clarke draws her up, pecking her nose with a small kiss.

You place Lily down gently and she’s quick to join the others, finding a place by the tree while you survey the chaos from the side. Madi moves away once she’s satisfied with the attention given, assessing the jump from the couch to the floor with a tongue peeking between her teeth. You can see the decision she makes and apparently so does Clarke, who bolts upright at the first sign of movement. She reaches for Madi’s arm right as she’s about to leap.

“Jesus,” Clarke breathes, hesitant to let go even after Madi’s little feet are firmly planted on the ground. “What did we say about jumping from the couch?”

Madi shakes her head, eyes downcast. “No.”

“That’s right.” Clarke pinches her cheek. “No jumping.”

Clarke waits until Madi nods her understanding to finally loosen her grip and she’s off towards the others within seconds.

You smile when Clarke sighs, moving from your observation point to crouch near the tree with the kids, sorting through the presents and helping them with names. Aden finds his easily, prideful in the way he puffs his chest as he shows you a present from santa with his name scrawled on it. The other’s require a bit of help, and you sort through the gifts under the tree until each kid has something to open.

It’s a mess of paper once you give the okay nod and they waste no time. Jack is grinning long before he’s even managed to rip open the paper, but Danny tears through the wrapping within seconds and you watch as her face lights up the second she sees the small baseball glove, completely foregoing the other tie-in presents (a tee and a small bat and a couple of baseballs) to try it on.

She squeals when it fits, turning to beam up at you. “Look!” she says, holding up her hand. “Look, momma, Santa. Santa knew!”

“I told you he would.”

She goes back to her presents with this wide eyed wonder, pawing at the others in an attempt to open them without taking the glove off. And it works, it merely takes her a little bit.

Aden is showing Clarke the books he got, and you can tell she knows you’re staring by the way her lips curl in an almost smile. She glances your way in a moment of lull as Aden searches for something else to show off and you mouth ‘coffee?’ to which she nods gratefully.

You listen to the muffled noises and gleeful squeals and Clarke’s soft interest as you go about putting the coffee together. Setting the filter and adding the grinds. Pouring the water. The machine grumbles and you watch over your shoulder as Madi opens up a box that houses a pair of colorful light up sneakers that are actually more for you because you thought they were cute and Clarke had been too endeared with you to tell you no. She has them on her hands, stomping them against the floor to see the lights go off.

When you return, Lily’s already made herself at home in her very own purple bean-bag chair, clutching her new, and rather large, stuffed animal tightly to her chest (a wolf because ironically or not they’re her favorite). You tread carefully over toys and wrapping paper, tucking yourself close to Clarke. You hand off her mug and kiss her cheek.

“A success?”

Clarke’s lips curl, and she turns from watching the kids to tilt her head and kiss you back. First softly along your jaw and then carefully on your lips.

“Sure, I’d say so,” she says, not quite pulling away, forehead touching against yours. She stays as close as she can until the kids pull her attention away, Jack face-planting into his barely unwrapped blue bean-bag, giggling insistently at the crinkling sounds it causes. “They’re not going to want to sleep in their beds.”

“Probably not one of our better ideas,” you mutter back, dipping for another kiss.

“Momma!”

You pull away to look down at Danny clutching your leg and Clarke rests her head on your shoulder.

“We need to go outside,” she states, a determined sparkle to her eye. “Right now.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

Your mouth quirks into a grin and you lean forward. “Why?”

“‘Cuz,” she says, tongue stumbling, “‘cuz you said we can’t play ball in the house.”

That does sound like something you would say. You glance at Clarke and she rolls her eyes fondly, picking up her weight from against you and then hauling herself from the couch with her cup of coffee. You heave a tiny sigh.

At least she listened to you.

“Okay--” and you know the moment that word is out of your mouth she stopped listening, bouncing on her feet. “Only a for a few minutes, there’s breakfast to eat and--”

Danny’s already gone. You see her sprint for the back door without shoes and a coat and you know that won’t stop her. If you were back home in the woods you might let her, but that’s neither here nor there. You put aside your barely touched mug of coffee and follow her. Luckily for you she still has trouble with the door.

You fish out a coat and her little boots from the closet in the hall and crouch beside her. “Your jacket, missy.”

She has to take off the glove so you can guide her arms through the sleeves and she’s a little sad but it doesn’t last long. You sit on the floor to help her with the boots and she plops down between your legs so you can wiggle them on, fastening the velcro and then giving a tug to make sure their snug. She clambers to her feet with the glove and a baseball and waits impatiently by the door for you to put on shoes and a coat. When you’re finally dressed, you undo the lock for the door and she’s off.

Danny makes it halfway into the backyard, stumbling through the nearly five inches of snow that fell last night, before checking to make sure you followed. “Momma!”

You smile at her, shutting the screen door behind you. The snow crunches under your boots, Danny’s footsteps tiny beside yours in the snow.

For a four year old Danny does exceptionally well. She can’t throw very far or very accurately for that matter, but (and it’s probably the wolf in her) the glove is put to good use. You start off close and make your way up to long stretches, spread out over the backyard and she catches it nine times out of ten, sprinting there and back, eyes wide and mouth in a permanent smile, breath expelling in a fog.

If she wants to, she could be great.

“Lexa.”

You turn at the sound of Clarke’s voice and the squeak of the door swinging open--the crunch of the snow under a multitude of tiny feet. Out of the corner of your eye you catch the smirk on Clarke's lips as she stands in the doorway, but you only make it three feet before you’re overrun.

You tumble into the snow, bits of it sneaking its way under your shirt and down the back of your coat. Danny must feel left out because she’s quick to make her way over to you and her siblings, adding her weight to the pile with barely contained laughter.

The cold sinks in quickly, but you don’t mind.

 

* * *

 

“Can I get you anything?”

You hum in lieu of a response, not bothering to pick your head up from the couch or even open your eyes. You can’t move, at least not without disturbing the five kids nestled around you, and apart from the elbow digging into your ribs you don’t want to. They’re warm, and having them all around you is a surefire way to put you to sleep. You open your eyes anyway though, peeking at Clarke’s soft smile.

You clear your throat. “Just you.”

A blush colors Clarke’s cheeks and she leans in to kiss you tenderly. “I think this couch is filled to capacity,” she says, shaking her head in amusement when you pucker your bottom lip into a pout. It makes her kiss you again and it’s an acceptable alternative.

“Do you need help with anything?”

Clarke stands, pushing off from her knees, and you follow her movements with tired eyes.

She brushes the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “No,” she says. “Thank you, though.”

You wake up an hour or two later, the living room gone dark besides the light flickering from the fireplace. But you see the blonde of Clarke’s hair, her cheek squished against cushion from where she’s found a spot on the floor propped up against the couch. Her face is inches from yours and you can feel her breath ghost over your nose and cheeks.

You wiggle your right hand out from under stomach, reaching for her hand. Her fingers are cold against your own, but hopefully with a little help they’ll be warm in no time.

 

 


	4. January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's pretend i posted this yesterday, ok? ok. (also im a sap but what else is new)

You get up long before the sun does, pulling yourself from the sheets and Clarke. She rolls over to your side of the bed, a whine soft in the back of her throat as she pulls the sheets tighter around her, burrowing into the heat that remains in your absence.

She sighs and you go about picking through your drawers for some clothes and then disappear into the bathroom to change. You wash your face and then brush your teeth, flashing a brief smile at the mirror to make sure things are satisfactory before attempting to tame the mess that is your hair. You pull it back from your face, elastic held between your teeth.

You tiptoe back into your room when you’re finished, allowing yourself a moments distraction as you make a detour to the bed. Clarke stirs, eyes fluttering open, and you watch as she attempts to adjust to the dark.

“Lexa?”

You lean over, bracing your hands on the mattress. She accepts your kiss more out of habit than reciprocation, turning to face you still half asleep, but she’s soft and warm and one tug away from making you late for work.

“Love you,” she mumbles against your lips and you smile, pressing close to kiss her once more before pulling away.

“I love you, too.”

 

* * *

 

“How was Aden’s party?”

You glance up at Anya, concentration broken, but you consider it a welcome distraction from the rather morbid scene in front of you. “He missed you,” you say, standing to your full height. You peel off the latex gloves, watching as the local police and the evidence response team make quick work of the area.

“Tell him I’ll make it up to him," she says, staring off down the road.

You look away with a small amused quirk to your lips, tossing aside the gloves into the nearest trash before holding out your hand for the file. Anya settles the papers on your open palm and you give a quick rifle through the pages. To most of the people here on this barricaded street corner down off main street it’s just unlucky happenstance, a supposed hit and run, but something about the smell doesn’t sit right with you.

It’s the reason you’re here.

“What do you think?” Anya says, careful to keep her voice low, but you see the subtle grin to the corner of her mouth. “Up for the challenge?”

“Who do you take me for?” you say with a smirk of your own.

Anya pats you once roughly on the back and you jerk forward slightly, but you’re more than accustomed to Anya’s form of tough love. You watch her walk away to chat with Ryder about the details of the investigation, fixing your work jacket with a quick tug. You can smell a bit of decaying flesh and an underlying tint of magic, but you focus on the pleasant scents from little bakery down the street.

You breathe in, push up your sleeves, and get to work.

 

* * *

 

You get home around eight o’clock and it’s well past dark. The light above the garage door illuminates the otherwise shadowed driveway, and when you finally haul yourself from the car with your things and the bags of groceries, managing a small miracle as you slot the key into the front door, you finally take notice of the silence. You shuffle into the main hallway, plastic bags wrinkling, your keys jingling, and maneuver your way expertly through the dark hall and into the kitchen, knocking the light switch on with your elbow.

Light floods the room, and you blink rapidly to adjust to the sudden change, unloading the contents hanging from your hands onto the table. This little scrap of paper on the tray of Madi’s high chair catches your attention however, and you shake the last few bags off your arms and reach for it.

Clarke’s scrawl is chicken scratch, long and somewhat erratic, and it makes you smile.

 _Went for a walk with the kids,_ it says, _be back soon_. There’s a rather well drawn kissy face and you roll your eyes, letting the paper fall back onto the tray as you reach for the bags, this smile forming on your lips.

You decide to make pasta. It’s easy and you’re a little tired and you can hide the finely chopped celery and the diced tomatoes between the sauce and the ground beef. Madi will push it around her plate and pick around the pasta for the meat but it’s come the point where four out of five is actually pretty good odds.

You’re waiting for it to cook, hip propped against the counter, scrolling through the news on your phone, when you hear rustling by the back door. You turn slightly to look over your shoulder as the noises grow, a ruckus of little yelps and the clack of claws along the hardwood floor. You see Jack first, reddish-brown fur matted with a smattering of mud and slowly melting snow. He slips as he makes the turn for the stairs, hitting his chin on the first step but he shakes it off, little bits of mud flying off in several directions, and then continues on up to the second floor.

Danny is a close second, and she has to skid to a stop and then reroute herself to follow her brother upstairs. She’s followed closely behind by Lily and Aden, and the stark contrast of the dirt against their lighter fur is as amusing as it is exasperating. It’s a few seconds before Madi stumbles her way down the hallway, practically brown from all the mud besides a few patches of white that peek through the grime. She looks hardly bothered by it, bounding back towards the door, Clarke’s heavy footsteps loud in the hall.

Clarke appears around the corner slightly less mud coated, but nonetheless filthy. She nudges Madi forward with the tip of her nose, this playful yet stern growl low in her throat as her daughter attempts to wriggle around and bite back. You can see Clarke’s about two seconds from picking Madi up by the scruff, but she stops, lifts her head as if suddenly remembering, and finds you. She’s still for a moment as she watches you (Madi bumbling between her legs, nipping at her heels) before letting out a quiet huff that’s a mix between a snort and a sneeze, giving a subtle shake of her head. It makes you grin.

The no carpet rule Clarke was adamant about when you were looking for a house finally makes sense to you.

It’s a second, Clarke finally growing tired of Madi’s antics and gently grabbing hold of the back of her neck with her teeth and lifting. Madi’s little legs dangle, going limp in Clarke’s grasp, but she spots you in the kitchen when Clarke turns for the stairs and she lets out a soft whine, her tail wagging.

You turn back to the pasta the moment Clarke disappears up the stairs, giving the pot a quick stir before replacing the lid and turning the burner to low. You last five minutes, idling in the kitchen until you realize you much rather be elsewhere.

The mess you made is cleaned, the stove is turned off, and you take the steps two at a time. You hear running water from the top of the stairs, the bathroom door left ajar and the light spills out into the hall. You see the tiny paw prints and the steady transformation they make the closer you get to the door, and you make slight detour to the laundry room and grab some clean pajamas for the kids.

When you finally return, you find Clarke seated in front of the tub, hair matted and still speckled with dirt, a large hand-me-down t-shirt she probably found in the dirty laundry pulled low over her thighs. She’s up to her elbows in suds, hands full as she goes about scrubbing the caked on grime from Madi’s face. Clarke’s attention flits to you, her cheeks rosy from the steam as it fills to the far spaces, clouding the mirror, and you roll up your sleeves and join her.

“Did you have fun?”

She doesn’t look at you, but her lips form this gentle curve. “Too much probably.”

You reach behind you for an extra cloth from underneath the sink, dipping it into the warm water and ringing the excess back into the tub. You reach out for Jack’s chin, tilting it up to clean the underside of his neck.

“It’s a good thing there aren’t six of you,” you say, tilting his head down again. You take advantage of his focused attention to tickle the spot under his ear. “There wouldn’t be enough space in the tub.”

Clarke chuckles softly, leaning to the side to rest her weight against you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before finishing up with Madi and moving on. Aden has pretty much washed himself, and with Danny and Jack separated by Lily, distractions are held to a minimum and the both of you manage to finish in record time.

The tub is drained and Clarke helps each of them out as you wait on standby with a towel. The dryer they become the less you are. The front of your button-up is damp, the sleeves soaked through, and the knees of your pants are smeared with the mud from the floor, but you find it mildly inconvenient at its worst.

“Have they eaten?” you ask Clarke, who reaches for another towel to help expedite the process, finishing with Lily’s hair. The kids are worn out, easily malleable as you guide arms into sleeves. “I made pasta.”

“We had some sandwiches before we left,” Clarke says, putting aside the towel to help Lily fix her shirt so it's not on backwards. She leans back, brushing the dirty strands of hair from her face and smiles softly at you. “Thank you.”

Danny yawns, rubbing her eye with a closed fist and you sit back on your heels, idly brushing your fingers over her back. You watch as her eyes droop and she rests her weight against you.

You pick her up, settling her on your hip, and she tucks her head into the crook of your neck. You see Clarke begin to follow, but you reach out for her, the tips of your fingers brushing the inside of her wrist. She looks up at you, unconsciously weaving your fingers together as she tucks a matted strand of hair back behind her ear.

“Let me handle this,” you say quietly, giving a subtle squeeze. You gesture towards your room with a tilt of your head. “Relax.”

Clarke’s eyes get stuck on you, shifting between your lips and your eyes. She gives a soft shake of her head before sighing and letting go of your hand. “Thanks.”

You kiss her cheek as she steps by and she kisses each of the kids as she passes. When she’s gone you have them take turns brushing their teeth at the sink and then herd them off towards their rooms. Jack has some minor complaints he makes known as you make your way down the hall, his little fingers curled around your hand, but once he’s tucked in he’s out like a light. The rest are easy.

By the time you get back to your room, opening the door to the master bathroom, the tub is already full and all but Clarke’s nose and above is submerged under the bathwater. Her skin is flushed red and when you shut the door quietly behind you, the sound rouses her from the half-sleep she had unintentionally sunken into. She sits up, blinking, and the water laps at the sides.

You peel out of your button up, your bra and pants and socks, shimmying out of your underwear. Clarke watches tiredly, her head propped against the rim of the tub, but after a moment she scoots forward a little to make room for you. The water burns a little when you step in, sinking beneath the surface, but the the tenseness eases from your muscles soon enough.

You draw her to you and she comes willingly, back pressed to your front.

The water ripples and you brush aside the hair from her neck. “Where did you go?”

“Just through the woods out back,” Clarke says, voice soft with exhaustion. She clears her throat and shifts against you.

“You were careful?”

“That’s funny coming from you,” she teases and you lightly pinch her hip.

“It happened once, Clarke,” you say and she laughs, tilting her head back to kiss the side of your chin.

“Next time you’ll just have to come,” she says, covering your hand with her own.  
  
“You know I would love to.”

Clarke settles, sinking lower until the water grazes the tip of her chin. She stays like that, held loosely in your arms, before you reach out for the closest shampoo bottle. It’s the one you stole from the kids, some strawberry scented brand that you found on sale at the supermarket. There’s a cartoon character on the front and a bubble that says it's safe on eyes and you pour a generous amount into your open palm.

Gathering Clarke’s hair in your hands, you lather until it foams, running your fingers as gently as you can through the knots and tangles. The dirt dissolves and washes away and Clarke hums contentedly under your hands.

“It was beautiful out tonight,” Clarke mutters as you work.

“I’m sad I missed it.”

“You have next weekend off?”

“You know there’s really no set schedule, but Anya is aware that it’ll be hard to reach me,” you say and Clarke turns slightly, attempting to catch your eyes over her shoulder. You place a kiss at the corner of her mouth, but the distraction isn’t as successful as you’d hoped. Clarke watches you and you nudge her with the tip of your nose. She reluctantly faces forward again. You take another minute your two, working until Clarke’s shoulders relax and she leans back against you.

You both take turns. Working, that is. Despite money not being much of an issue, and Clarke’s mother more than willing to help, you knew integrating yourself among the community here would be as important as the children learning to maneuver among a human world. That doesn’t mean either of you enjoy the time spent apart. Eventually, maybe, it’ll get easier.

“Close your eyes,” you say and she does. You rinse the shampoo from her hair with a cup you find by the bottles on rim of the tub. You pour the water over the top of her head, your hand covering her eyes even though you know you don’t need to. You comb through her hair when you finish, enjoying the feeling of carding your fingers through the strands. “When is your mother coming?”

“Friday night.” Clarke says, the words practically a rumble in her chest as she fights off the oncoming sleep. Your hands find her waist and you rest your chin on her shoulder. “She wants to give the kids a check-up.”

“Do they know?”

Clarke shakes her head. “I figured a surprise visit from their grandmother might counter any potential tantrums because of shots. Especially if she brings treats.”

You hum, amused and pleasantly warm from the bath, but mostly from Clarke. You linger because of it, only managing to move when the water goes colder than Clarke can handle. She squeezes your knee and you sigh, picking your head up from her shoulder. Clarke pushes herself up, stepping from the tub and you watch her because you can. She reaches for a towel folded by the sink, running it over her face and when she looks at you with her tousled hair and flushed cheeks you feel your heart skip a beat.

She lowers the towel from her mouth. “Are you coming?” she asks, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Clarke’s waits for you--lets you steal her towel with a kiss before wandering off to grab some clothes from the dresser. You follow when the air no longer bites, wrapped loosely in Clarke’s scent and the towel.

You find her filing through your drawer when you step out into the bedroom. She’s in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear, hair tossed over one shoulder and the excess moisture collects into the loose neckline of her shirt. You sidle up to her, brushing your lips over the exposed skin of her neck and she hums at the feeling.

“Maybe we can convince her to watch the kids for a night,” Clarke says, angling your face up towards her own so you can kiss her properly. You can feel her smile into it, and you find yourself getting lost in the feeling of her lips against your own. That is until Clarke pushes a shirt into your hands. You huff, watching her chuckle, and you let the towel drop from your shoulders and onto the floor as you arrange the shirt in your hands, pulling it over your head.

She helps, her fingers finding the edge of your shirt, pulling it down for you. She runs her fingers through your hair, pulling it from under the collar of your shirt and brushing it back behind your ear.

“It’s getting long,” she muses absently, fiddling with the strands that fall over your shoulder.

You take a small step closer, your voice gone soft. “You like it.”

She glances up. “I do.”

It’s a second but her hand drops, trailing down your arm until her hand finds yours and squeezes, the pad of her thumb tracing the band of your ring.

The sigh she breathes out when you press your lips to her forehead is quiet, fluttering, and the night folds silently around you.

 

 


	5. February

 

 

 

 

The moment you lift Lily out of her booster seat and onto your hip, cheek squished against your shoulder, she’s out. In hindsight you should have unbuckled Aden first, but at least he’s more than capable of unbuckling himself.

“Careful, Aden,” you say as he jumps down from the car and your free hand immediately reaches for the hood of his jacket before he bounds off into the parking lot. He looks up at you disappointed and you give a subtle shake of your head.

He stays put while you tug the little hat down over Lily’s ears, the snow flurries settling softly in her hair and caught in the wool of her beanie. She doesn’t register the fussing and when you readjust her on your hip she simply turns her head, cold nose now pressed against the warmth of your neck.

You hold out your hand and Aden is quick to weave his fingers with yours.

The supermarket is busy for a thursday evening, bustling with people just out of work and families out after school. You bypass the carriages entirely, on a mission, but you realize a moment or two after walking by the baskets that your arms are already full and you haven’t even made it to the cereal aisle. You turn around.

“Grab a basket for me, Aden? Please,” you say letting go of his hand and lightly pushing him forwards, and he works one free from where its stacked with the others.

You watch with a small smile at the sight and you hold out your hand. He shakes his head, this determined pucker to his mouth that reminds you so much of Clarke.

“I can do it. I can help,” he mumbles and it's almost a pout. He starts forward, body at a slight tilt so the basket doesn’t drag along the floor. You give it three minutes tops before he hands it off to you.

It's more like five, after the cereal but before the cans of soup. You find a middle ground instead, listing off the things you need and watching him scramble down the aisle while you follow along at a slower pace, Lily still sound asleep. Her nose is no longer cold at least, but the muscles in your back are starting to ache.

Aden doubles back with the peanut butter, dumping it into the basket with the other things you’ve accumulated.

“Jelly?” you ask and he slaps his hand to his forehead with an audible smack and then is off, skittering down the aisle, boots shuffling, that soft kind of whistle of his winter jacket as his arms move at his side.

His smile is wide when the jar is placed with the rest.

The last thing you grab is a little box of children’s cold medicine, strawberry flavored because Lily doesn’t seem to tolerate anything else. You can only hope it’ll do the trick.

The young cashier at the front smiles sympathetically at you as you juggle Lily against your shoulder and the basket of foods and sorts you place upon the counter. She helps you unload the contents as Aden watches, too short to be of help.

By now Lily’s arms are slack, hanging limply at her side, her mouth open in a quiet snore. You can feel the tickle of her breath against your neck, and at the slight jostle as you reach for your wallet in your back pocket, she burrows closer.

“She’s out cold,” the girl says with a tiny laugh and you smile.

“I like to make things difficult for myself,” you joke as you sift through to find your card. You stick it in the card reader once you do and wait for the prompts, watching out of the corner of your eye as Aden attempts to help the cashier sort your things into bags. It’s a moment and you slip your wallet and your card back into your pocket as the receipt prints and then hastily scribble your signature along the line.

“Thank you,” you say, stuffing your copy into your pocket. You lift Lily higher onto your hip and her hand unconsciously reaches up to grip your coat.

“You have a nice night,” the cashier says back with a soft smile.

You give Aden the lightest bag, the rest dangle from your left hand, your keys held between your thumb and index finger, and when you’re in range, the snow falling heavier now, you press the unlock button and the lights of the car blink in response. You manage to open the trunk with a hand full of groceries and stuff it all next to the boxes that never made it into the house. Aden waits until you open the door, but once you do he clambers up and over to the other side.

The second you pull Lily away from the crook of your neck, you know you’ve made a mistake. She whines loudly, hand still gripping your open coat, and when you settle her into the booster seat, peeling away her little fingers as gently as you can, she blubbers. Her nose starts to run with renewed vengeance and her eyes water with tears. She has this soft, pitiful, high-pitched cry and you’ve always wondered how she manages such a noise with a such a tiny throat.

“I know, baby, I know,” you murmur, pushing away the little blonde hairs so they don’t stick to her face with the snot and tears, tucking them underneath the wool hat. You wipe away the dribbles from her nose with your sleeve and then buckle her in. “We’re heading home now, promise.”

She scrunches her nose and rubs at her eyes, mouth in a deep exaggerated frown. Her cheeks are puffy and you hand her her sippy cup from the cupholder between the front seats, leaning forward to kiss her gently on her forehead.

You lean across to help Aden buckle up, who looks worriedly between you and Lily, her soft little whimpers an ever present noise in your ears, and then wander around to the driver’s side. Luckily the trip is short and you pull into the driveway not ten minutes later.

Lily’s whimpers have quieted though they’re not necessarily gone. Muffled around the sippy cup she has in her mouth as more of a comfort than a need to quench a thirst. You help Aden down first, and Lily finally goes silent the second you pick her up again, releasing her from the constraints of the booster seat and she’s free to drop the sippy cup and tuck her face against your neck. You snag the bags from the back and then you and Aden make the trek up to the front door.

“Clarke?” you call from the foyer, nudging the door shut behind you. You place the bags gently on the floor, toeing out of your shoes as you help Aden with his jacket, holding the hood as he slips his arms free and then darts off down the hallway and into the kitchen. You don’t bother with your own, not with Lily quiet and halfway asleep again.

There’s some general busy noise wafting from the kitchen, the clink of pots and pans and then Aden’s squeal of delight. Not a second later you see him bound from the kitchen into the living room, giggling, followed by Clarke who slides into the hall. She nearly slips straight through into the living room, but she catches herself on the opposite wall when she sees you and Lily still by the door with the groceries. she softens visibly at the sight.

Clarke pushes the hair away from her eyes, and you take stock of her fluffy socks and sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt that has a washed-out stain on the front.

You remember it being a spaghetti sauce accident.

“Lexa,” Clarke says, quiet, and she meets you there just by the door. She steps close, one hand at your waist, tugging until your hips bump and she can lean in for a kiss, Lily tucked in between. “How did it go?”

“She’s okay.” You shrug and Lily doesn’t even respond. Clarke pulls away to brush a thumb across her forehead. “Tired. Your mother said it was just a fever and that we could try children's cold medicine if it starts to bother her too much, but…” And you trail off, glancing down at the little head on your shoulder. “She isn’t sure how much help it’ll do. It probably won’t be strong enough.”

“So the usual then?”

You hum. “Keep her hydrated, make sure she’s comfortable…” Clarke moves away, taking Aden's coat from your hand and hanging it up in the closet to your left. “I’m thinking of putting her in our room. Just for the night.”

“That big bed all to herself?” Clarke says, lips curled subtly, glancing at you over her shoulder as she takes a hanger from the rack and slips Aden's jacket onto it. “She’d be in heaven.”

“It would make her feel more comfortable.”

The closet door shuts, and not a second later Clarke tilts forward to kiss you. “I have no doubt it would,” she says softly before pulling away, heading towards the kitchen after picking up the bags from the floor. You follow closely behind.

You glance into the living room when you pass and find Aden sprawled with his brother and sisters on the wide couch, already engrossed in a movie. You turn back just as Clarke sets the bags down on the table, picking through each one until she finds the box of cold medicine, turning it in her hand to read the instructions on the back. She fishes out the bottle of red liquid and pops off the little measuring cup and cap and then finally the sealed film of plastic.

She looks up at you then, finding you closer than she expected, and her shoulders kind of relax and she shakes her head. Her voice is quiet when she says, “You’re going to have to get her to let go.”

“Of what?”

“Of you, lexa,” Clarke says, endeared but mostly exasperated.

You smile. “I’m going to clean her up.”

Clarke pushes you playfully away.

You start with her hat, carefully peeling it from her head once you reach the top of the stairs and then tossing it into the hamper in the closet by the bathroom. You nudge the door open with your shoulder, reaching for a cloth that you wet with warm water, which you use to clean the bits of snot and dried tears, and then set to peeling off her jacket. She lets you, the less clothes she has the closer she can get and you find she doesn’t put up much of a fight as long as she can stay near to you.

“Do you have to go potty?” you asked quietly. You have her sitting on the edge of the sink, leant into you as you go about removing her little boots and she mumbles a quiet ‘no’ into your chest.

When you finally have her all set and in dry pajamas, Lily’s managed to tire herself out enough that situating her in your bed is simpler than expected. She settles easily among your sheets and your smell, and it's far more amusing than it should be looking back from the door and seeing this little lump buried in the vastness of your bed.

You leave the door open a smidge, the hall light seeping through the crack, and make your way downstairs, shucking off your coat. Clarke turns at the sound of your footsteps, watching for a moment as you place it on the back of Madi’s high chair before returning her attention back to the leftovers she sorts into various tupperware containers.

“I’ll check on her in a little bit and see if i can get her to take the medicine,” Clarke says the moment you come to stand beside her at the counter. Your sides touch and you slouch to rest your chin on her shoulder.

“Time it right and she probably won’t even notice.”

“If only they were all like that.”

You kiss her cheek. “The world would be a much simpler place.”

The kids get put to bed an hour or two later, after the credits have ended and the movie loops through the title menu. You make sure their teeth are brushed and that they’re situated in their rooms and tucked comfortably. As you make your way down the hall you hear Clarke’s soft voice and Lily’s tired mumbles. A quick peek inside and you see Clarke perched at the edge of the bed, the sliver of light passing over the floors and catching the light of Clarke’s hair. Lily giggles quietly as Clarke presses a messy kiss to her cheek

You lie down on the couch to wait for Clarke and you may or may not doze off while staring at netflix's main menu, unable to decide. What rouses you an indersernable amount of time later is Clarke draping herself over you, settling between your legs, chests flush and you feel the contented sigh she exhales. Your hands find her hips, pushing up the hem of her shirt until the pads of your fingers brush over her skin.

“Did she take the medicine?”

“Like a champ,” Clarke says into your shoulder. She wiggles a hand underneath your sweater, the other dangling over the side of the couch, and breathes in. “Did Danny tell you?

“Tell me what?”

“That she wants to go to kindergarden.”

“Kindergarten?”

“Kinder-garden,” Clarke emphasizes and you can tell she’s smiling a little. “Chloe told her it's where kids go to grow.”

It makes you chuckle and you shift, tugging Clarke up a smidge to alleviate the numbness you feel beginning to prickle to life in your left leg. “And what do you think?”

“Sure, I guess. I mean, wasn’t that the entire purpose of moving?” Clarke goes quiet and you trace your nails over her lower back. “It’s just feels so…”

"Soon?” you offer.

Clarke nods. “They’re still acclimating to a new environment. How can we be sure something won’t go wrong the moment we’re not there to watch them?”

“It’s a risk we’ll just have to take,” you say, and Clarke breathes out. "But we still have time."

Clarke doesn't say anything, and you're more than content with the weight settled atop you. You look to your left, the television still stuck on the main menu, and despite the remote being within reaching distance you find you don't want to pull your hands from Clarke's warm, soft skin to retrieve it.

“Is that dried booger on your shoulder?”

You don’t answer for a long moment, but you find yourself smiling absently at the ceiling. “Maybe.”

 

 


	6. March

 

1.

You know March by its smell. That dense, stale feeling that seems to sit at the back of your throat as the snow melts for what will hopefully be the final time. The earth is soaked, puddles in the yard and the dips of pavement, muddy bits of slush that’s more water than snow--grass flattened and bent.

It makes work difficult. Everything blends together, runs together, and in your line of work it does nothing but make your life miserable. Anya can see it wear you thin. You know by the way she hesitates that fraction of second just outside your office, how she takes stock of your desk and the mess when she enters before glancing at you.

“Cigarette?” she asks.

A part of you recognizes the joke, but you’re too tired to play along. “Now is not the time.”

She digs one out of the pack anyway, sets it unlit between her lips. At least she has the common decency not to test your patience by lighting it. She sits on the arm of the chair in front of your desk instead, crossing her legs. “How long have you been here?”

You don’t answer.

“Harrison can wait, you know.” She takes the cigarette between her index and middle finger, holds it. “He’s cornered. Got nowhere to run and if he does we’ll find him.”

“An animal is at its most dangerous when cornered.” You stare at the file in front of you, the dates and times and places. All carefully compiled and organized, but things start to swim, and you close your eyes for a brief moment before looking up. “The sooner he’s caught the better.”

“And you’ll find him,” Anya says. “You’re of no use run dry.” She flicks idly at the cigarette between her fingers, uncrosses her legs. “Go home. Enjoy what’s left of the night with Clarke and the kids. We’ll be here tomorrow.”

You find it's difficult to say no to that. 

 

* * *

 

You get back late--close to eleven and mere seconds from dropping everything and falling asleep in the hallway. You put away your jacket, step out of your shoes and set aside your laptop bag and your keys. When you peek into the living room you find Clarke with her feet propped on the coffee table, slouched and reading one of your books by the lamp on the end table. She has her fingers in her hair, ruffling away the tension from keeping it up all day. However, the moment she catches sight of you out of the corner of her eye there in the hall her hand drops and she smiles.

“Hey,” Clarke says, and it's quiet and soft. It feels like forever but you make it across the room and to the couch. She tilts up her head and you dip low to kiss her and it takes very little effort on her part to pull you down into her side.

You go willingingly, tucking your face in the crook of her neck with a sigh. You hear her chuckle, the rumble of the contented hum deep in her chest and the rustle as she corners a page of her book and closes it.

“Took you forever,” she says as she brushes the hair gently from your face. She smells like fresh air and the woods and little traces of the kids and all the tension in you seems to disappear.

“I’m sorry,” you say but she shushes you, her lips finding your forehead and pressing there absently.

“You’re going to miss these days when it’s your turn to watch the kids.”

You shake your head. “Never.”

 

  
5.

You’re ambushed the moment you walk through the door monday evening, Jack first with his tiny growls and you brace for impact as he barrels into you with a grin. You’re quick to place the shopping bag on the little table next to the door, beside the bowl where you toss your keys, before more come rushing around the corner.

“Got you!” he exclaims, voice muffled by your shirt but triumphant all the same. You scoop him up under your arm and then Danny too when she tackles your side, Lily attaching herself to your leg, and their shrieks of laughter fill the small hallway as you carry them into the kitchen.

“Clarke,” you say a little breathless, attempting to control the wiggling, and she looks up from the kitchen table where she’s sat between Madi and Aden. They share a book and Madi colors on sheets of loose-leaf papers, her little tongue peeking from between her mouth and she doesn’t even bother to look at you. Clarke rests her chin in her hand.

You place Jack and Danny carefully back on their feet once they stop kicking and then peel Lily from your leg. You walk forward and brace your hands on the table, leaning over for a quick kiss that Clarke smiles through.

“Welcome home,” she says.

“What did I miss?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Not much.”

You take a seat at the table across from her, volleying attention between Jack and Lily. You get them all cleaned up for dinner when the timer on the microwave goes off and Clarke gets up to take care of the crock pot on the counter. Hands are washed with soap and warm water, but there’s stubborn smudges of marker that refuse to disappear.

You sit down at the table to eat with bowls of stew and a warm loaf of italian bread that melts butter on contact and familiar chatter settles over the kitchen. You cut up small bite-sized pieces of meat and carrots for Madi, politely ask Jack to chew before speaking, and sneak glances at Clarke from across the table. She catches you on several occasions, but you’re not exactly being discreet.

There’s a little bit of after dinner roughhousing that Clarke pretends to tolerate, but you see the slope of her lips and the way she watches you. The lot of them pull and tug, little growls and bared teeth, and you’re more than content to let them. that is until a close shave with the coffee table you and Clarke only manage to avoid through heightened reflexes alone.

It’s bed after that.

You trace your steps back downstairs after things quiet down, Clarke not too far behind as you make your way to the table by the front door and the bag is right where you left it. You turn around just as she reaches the first floor landing, standing at the bottom of the stairs watching you.

When you’re close enough she reaches for you, her hand curling into your shirt and pulling you closer.

“What’s in the bag?” Clarke says, kissing your cheek.

“A birthday gift for Lily.”

“Another?”

“Just something small.” You glance down at the bag and Clarke’s lips tilt in a small smile. “It was cute.”

“Let me see,” she says, and you pull out this small pair of overalls. An embroidered daisy sits at the base along one of the suspenders and when you hand the garment over to Clarke she traces the design with her thumb.

“No lilies?” she teases.

“Unfortunately out of stock.”

Clarke laughs softly. “It’s cute.”

You lift your shoulder in a shrug. “I thought so, too.”

 

  
6.

You remember the little cabin in the woods where Lily was born with a bittersweet kind of ache. Far north near the Canada border with its long dirt driveway and dappled sunlight and the strong smell of earth and pine. You and Clarke had been together for three years, known each other for longer, and yet on that march 6th four years ago you’d say spring arrived early.

She was named after the lilies you planted every year in the little box underneath the window where the sun hit the side of the house. These large casablanca lilies with their white petals and gentle scent. She was small though, and oddly quiet besides the initial wail and the soft whines that followed, but you remember holding her in your arms for the first time, Clarke beside you in bed, and finding yourself unable to hold back the wide teary smile as you watched her settle there.

You miss it sometimes. The crispness of the air and the freshness inherent in it, the ever present briskness you could feel in the spaces between your ribs (the cold Clarke complained about but used as a perpetual excuse to be close). The freedom you had, the wide open space. The memories of Lily with you in the garden, more a hindrance than help, dirt under her nails and smudged on her face but she smiled often and smiled brightly.

It’s different here, but the laughter is the same. March 6th feels like spring here too as you watch Lily sprint about the backyard in her overalls and bare feet, Clarke hot on her heels, the sun warm and gradual in its descent. Remnants of blue frosting sticks to Lily’s sleeve and you think you see a little bit in her hair and the others fumble about doing their own thing. There’s no more snow, and while the scent of rain lingers, it feels far behind.

 

* * *

 

You all get back later that night from a run and you find you missed it, being busy with work and all. With the kids you take it slow, they stumble and get sidetracked, following their noses which generally means into trouble. It’s less dangerous here in the small forest behind your suburban house than it was back home, but you know that it's not an excuse to be careless. You might not need to worry about bears and mountain lions and the pups biting off more than they can chew, but people--humans are another kind of monster altogether.

(the kids can pass as small foxes, lost puppies maybe, but you and Clarke… to little old Mary and her toy poodle down the street you’re not anything but wolves and wolves don’t wander around the suburbs for long)

You bring up the rear, Clarke nosing open the back door and then slipping inside, Danny and Jack following closely behind her into the hall. Madi gets stuck on the steps, Lily and Aden darting past and into the house, and when you get close you dip your head and pick her up gently between your teeth, carrying her inside.

It takes you and Clarke over half an hour to get everybody clean including yourselves. Afterwards you get extra blankets and pillows from the closet and dump them in a pile onto the floor in front of the couch.

Lily gets to pick the movie and once you have Balto up and running on netflix you sink among the blankets and pillows and get comfortable. There’s Clarke at your side, her head on your shoulder and her arm around your waist, and the kids as close to the tv as you’ll allow... You don’t even make it through half the movie before falling asleep.

When you wake up the television is muted and the room is quiet. Some children’s movie plays and the colors flicker and illuminate the otherwise dark living room. You can feel Clarke’s nose pressed against your neck and you see Madi curled into her side. Lily’s half draped across your stomach and you find you can’t move without disturbing the other tiny bodies asleep spread out in the divots between your legs. You try though, just a little bit--your leg is cramping and you shift. You hear Clarke’s soft exhale, feel it along the side of your neck and you know she’s awake.

“You okay?” she mumbles quietly without opening her eyes, and you turn your head to kiss whatever you can reach.

“My leg hurts.”

You watch her lips stretch slowly into a smile, languid. Her fingers fan out over your ribs and you can feel how her muscles tense as she stretches subtly given the space. She settles once she’s satisfied however, clears her throat just so, and you know she’s not moving.

It’s warm and that’s all that matters.

 

  
17.

You wonder what the neighbors think when your driveway is packed pull with cars on a warm saturday evening. People of all manner and shapes and sizes pile out in droves and fill your backyard. There’s no music, but there is the sizzle from the grill Gustus claimed the second he arrived (much to Jake’s dismay) and the shouts and chatter of family gathered in the house and backyard. You see Lily in glances, streaks of blonde hair and her bubbly laughter, oddly enough enjoying being the center of attention.

Gustus’ grandsons, almost double digits now, include Aden in their wild goose chase for bugs near the far edge of the yard near the trees. You watch them near the drooping oak and it's low slung branches, their outstretched hands and dirt smudged knees, and run your fingers over Madi’s back and hope you won’t be the one to retrieve them should they get stuck.

“Where’s your wife?”

Maybe you’ll send Anya to get them instead.

“She’s inside with Abby,” you say, turning to Anya who steps beside you in the small little observation spot you sequestered at the edge of the party for the time being. Madi hides her face in your neck, shy, grip tight where her hand is curled into the back of your shirt.

“She still not keen on parties?” Anya says, gesturing to Madi and you look away with a smile of your own.

You shake your head. You see Clarke through the kitchen window with the pitcher of sangria and a bottle of vodka and you quirk a brow when she catches you staring through the glass. She smirks at you, mouthing something you can’t make out and Abby nudges her in the side with a roll of her eyes when she notices her daughter’s attention is elsewhere.

You turn back to Anya. “I think it’s the noise.”

“Or maybe you spoil her.”

“I spoil them all,” you say, and the blunt honesty at your own expense makes Anya laugh.

 

* * *

 

By eleven o’clock the kids are out like lights in the living room, spread out over floor and the pull out couch in sleeping bags and an abundance of blankets. You and the other adults, however, enjoy the nice night out by the fire pit, the flames tame but nonetheless warm. Clarke sits between your legs holding what must be her fourth glass of wine. Her cheeks are flushed and her skin is warm to the touch where you’ve sneaked a hand under her shirt, keeping her close against you.

Anya nurses a beer, custom brew courtesy of gustus who sits across from you with a mug of his own. He catches your eyes over the lip of his mug and you hide your smile into slope of Clarke’s shoulder, shifting your attention to Lincoln and, for lack of a better term, his wife. It’s a relatively new development, but more than welcome.

“It’s not too bad,” Clarke says, and you watch the firelight flicker over her cheeks.

“Certainly not ideal,” Abby comments, her hand resting on Jake’s knee. He reclines back in a lawn chair, and you wouldn't be surprised if he was already asleep.

“I never said it was ideal. I said it wasn’t bad,” Clarke replies, voice soft and even, and you feel her relax into you. “It might not be what we’re used to but it’s… it’s nice. A bit small and unusual but nice.” Her face goes a little wistful, how you can see the side of her face as she stares off into the distance. “The pickings are a bit slim though,” she says after a moment, glancing back at you with a tilt of her lips. You can already feel yourself smiling. “I’m sick of squirrels.”

Gustus’ laugh is low and just a tad bubbly. “Little fuckin’ devils,” he says with this rosey grin. Around you snickers are hidden behind hands and only Abby manages to quell it well enough to offer a half-hearted ‘language.’

The fire crackles and spits and you kiss the side of Clarke’s neck, reveling in the quiet hum you feel under your fingertips.

 

* * *

 

“Kindergarten?” Abby’s says, and your surprised by how well she handles the news. There’s only the one light on in the kitchen and for the sake of the kids just one room over her voice is soft, but that does little to hide the skepticism.

“Yeah, maybe...” Clarke says with this small shrug, busying herself with filling a few drinks for the adults still outside. She hands one to you to carry and you accept it with a kiss. “Aden, too. I think it would be good for them.”

“A public education?” Abby says, looking at you for your opinion. All you do is look back.

“Being around kids their age,” Clarke emends. “They know when and where things are appropriate--”

You shoot her a look, endeared. “Clarke.”

“Most of the time,” she’s quick to correct, subtly shaking her head at you. She turns back to her mother when the line of her lips quirks upwards into an almost smile. “It’s just something we’re thinking about.”

“Well,” Abby says, and you turn to see the sincerity in her eyes as she breathes in. “It’s up to you. They're your kids, you do what you think is best for them." For a moment there's silence and Abby's voice is quiet and almost hesitant when she continues. "But you know you can count on me if you need help, right?”

And Clarke sighs. “I know, mom.”

 

  
31.

“I need to get another pair of shoes for jack,” Clarke tells you the following saturday night. Her voice is soft in your ear, her body draped across yours in the comfort of your bed. You like feeling her breathe, stomach to stomach and her scent all around you.

“Aden’s basically grown out of most of his pants,” you add, trying your hardest to stay awake, but it feels like a battle you’re both losing.

“You get out of work early tomorrow?”

You hum an affirmative.

“What do you say about a group trip to the mall?” Clarke asks as she snuggles closer and you chuckle softly at the sensation.

“Sounds like fun to me.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me at kokkoro on tumblr for more soft clexa trash and aus.


	7. April

 

 

2.

You’re halfway through making lunches when you hear it--your name muffled on Clarke’s tongue from upstairs and you turn to stare blankly over your shoulder at the empty hallway. Lily looks first, hand curled into the fabric of your sweatpants, turning to follow your line of sight, and the rest follow suit.

“Lexa?” comes Clarke’s voice again, a little louder this time, and five pairs of eyes return to you. Madi gurgles a mix of real and nonsensical words from her high chair, talking back, and Danny tugs at your pants on your other side as if you tell you you’re being paged and you place the butter-knife down on the counter still sticky with jelly. You’re careful not to leave it too close to the edge, sucking at the little smudge of peanut butter stuck to your thumb before dusting the breadcrumbs from your hands.

You gently peel Lily’s hand away from your sweats, pressing a finger to your mouth, and she goes wide eyed at the implication. She watches you dart to hide by the entryway to the kitchen, pressing your back against the wall as Clarke’s footsteps reach the top of the stairs and then descend.

“….Lexa?” Her voice is closer, feet shuffling down the steps until you hear her on the other side of the wall. She stops just beyond the kitchen and you watch the kids stare back at her. Madi’s gurgled ‘mommy’s’ grow more insistent when she spots Clarke no more than ten feet away and you’re sure it’s her outstretched arms that pull Clarke in to the kitchen. “Where in the world-–”

Clarke jumps, words cut off the second you pounce from around the corner, this adorable little yelp escaping her as she reflexively covers her face with her hands. You capture her securely in the circle of your arms and hold her close, unable to help the curl of your lips at the groan lodged in Clarke’s throat.

“You piece of work,” Clarke mutters as the kids rush over to latch themselves to your legs, giggling like mad.

You press a kiss to her cheek and then another just below her jaw. She sighs at the touch and you smile against her skin. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“Not particularly, no.”

 

  
8.

“Danny,” you say, your tone somewhat scolding as you watch her fondly from your seat at the kitchen table beside Aden. She doesn’t stop, barely even seems to acknowledge your voice, too wrapped up in her playdate with Chloe as she circles and pounces and tickles. Chloe giggles insistently, rather enjoying the one sided barrage of little fingers, but you know how demanding Danny can be sometimes.

Her energy is relentless even on the worst of days and for a little human girl like Chloe, you need Danny to realize the difference between playful and the roughhousing she’s used to with her brothers.

“Danny,” you repeat, and this time she looks. The ponytail you scooped her hair into earlier is falling apart, whisps and little curls near her temples. In front of her, Chloe’s cheeks are red, eyes sparkling as she catches her breath, and she pushes the hair from her face clumsily with her palms. You look between the both of them, endeared, and then focus back on Danny. “Gentle, please.”

The words are soft and Danny’s shoulders relax as she nods. She plops herself down next to Chloe in the middle of the rug and their knees bump. Danny sits awfully close, but Chloe enjoys the attention, returns it tenfold as they converse amongst themselves in loud whispers and you return your attention to the math worksheet you have in front of aden, though you make sure the two of them stay in your line of sight.

Clarke gets back fifteen minutes later. You hear the door open and Clarke’s soft but firm “shoes!” as the hall fills with shuffling. There’s quiet huffs and grunts as shoes are tossed aside and forgotten and Jack must be the quickest because he rounds the bend first, scrambles up into a chair in his socks to peer curiously at the papers Aden shares with you.

“What’s that?” he says, practically leaning across the table, butt in the air. Aden shares a grin with him, but you tap his arm and he goes back to work.

“We sit in chairs, Jack,” you say, waiting to see if he understands without needing to be told. He knows, and after a moment he slinks down into his seat, only slightly disgruntled.

Satisfied, you smile. “Math,” you answer finally just as Clarke makes her way into the kitchen. She has Madi on her hip as Lily bounds ahead to pull herself up and into your lap. You kiss the side of her head as she gets comfortable, eyeing Clarke who gets stuck just shy of the kitchen. She stares into the living room with this lopsided smile, distracted by her daughter sharing secrets in the living room.

It’s a moment, but she does draw herself back.

“Have they been like this since we left?” Clarke asks once she closer, plopping down into the chair next to you and situating Madi more comfortably onto her lap.

You hum, reaching around Lily to help a struggling Aden when he runs out of fingers to count. “Pretty much.” You glance their way again, taking in the sight of the two of them still huddled together. You hear what must be soft, howling noises from Danny, and you know it's only because your daughter’s learned it's the quickest way to make Chloe laugh. You figure it can’t hurt too much.

“You sure it's okay to let her do that?” Clarke says quietly next to you, leaning across the space between you to press her mouth against your shoulder.

She must feel you shrug, and you turn to kiss her forehead. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

Clarke manages a hum of her own and shifts to rest her head on your shoulder so she can watch the shenanigans unfold in the living room. At the very least, Danny seems to have taken your comment to be gentle to heart, and the smile that takes hold of Clarke’s lips is one you’re sure to remember.

 

* * *

 

The Jefferson’s car pulls up into your driveway around four o’clock and before you get the chance to tell them to behave, Jack’s already at the window that brackets the front door, peering out at the unfamiliar car idling in the driveway.

You take your time though, lifting Chloe from her chair at the kitchen table and settling her carefully on her feet. Danny scrambles after you, snacks suddenly second place. She tries to help you help Chloe tie her shoes, but it’s more like she supervises with this stern look on her face as if she’s the one doing the work and not you.

She’s on your heels when you open the door to meet Mrs. Jefferson outside, just behind Chloe with one hand reaching out for the hem of your shirt for support. Luckily the rest of your entourage remains inside.

“Thank you for looking after her,” Mrs. Jefferson says as she squats down and Chloe lets herself be picked up.

You shake your head and you feel Danny finally pinch the fabric of your shirt between her fingers, pressing close to your leg. You run your hand over the soft unruly hairs of her head. “It’s nothing. What’s one more in the scheme of things, anyway.”

“Thank you,” she says again, and you sigh.

“You’re welcome.”

It’s a little funny to see Mrs. Jefferson situate Chloe in her booster seat only to pull back out and into her driveway across the street, but you don’t stay to watch for long. After the doors are shut and the car makes its way out of your driveway, you lead Danny back inside.

Jack’s gone, having lost interest, and you hear his voice loudly in the kitchen mixed with Clarke’s and lily’s and Madi’s attempt at proper communication. The hall is quiet then, Danny’s hand still bunched in your shirt, and you turn around to kneel in front of her. You regard her quietly there in that moment by yourselves in the hall and she watches you back with quiet brown eyes.

You reach out to ease the elastic from her hair. “Do you like Chloe?” you ask softly, running your fingers through the tiny curls of her hair once it's free.

Danny nods, but she doesn’t look you in the eyes, this kind of offhand pout that you’ve found lasts long after Chloe leaves.

You gather her hair atop her head and she lets you, your touch gentle and practiced. “You were very good today.” You catch Danny’s eyes when she glances at you and you smile. “But we need to remember to be careful, okay?”

You finish the little bun, securing it with a twist of the elastic and tucking what refuses to cooperate behind her ears. “It’s not that we can’t be who we are. What we are is incredible and unique and wholly us but right now... we need to be careful who we trust with secrets. Do you understand?”

“I didn’ tell her,” Danny begins, and her voice takes on that familiar mumble when she thinks she’s in trouble.

You’re quick to assuage those fears. “You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing wrong with being who you are, we just need to be careful.”

“Why?” she asks, and the tension in your shoulders goes slack at the innocence in her voice.

“Not all humans are like Chloe, Danny.”

Danny’s face kind of falls and she looks down at your feet, trying to fight off an obvious frown. It doesn’t seem like she’s winning, so you tickle her chin and you'd call it a simple miracle, the way her demeanor shifts for the better. She pulls back slightly to protect herself from more, giggling at the touch, and the frown is quick to disappear.

 

* * *

 

“I think I know why Danny wants to go to kindergarten,” you say in between a kiss, pressed into the mattress with Clarke on top of you and you enjoy the weight, your book lying discarded next to you.

Clarke hums and you can feel it in the press of your chests as she leans in to capture your lips again, her legs straddling your waist and her fingers tangled in your hair. Your hands are fanned out over her thighs and you can feel the lacy hem of her underwear against the tips of your fingers.

“Chloe,” is all Clarke says, and she laughs when her next kiss misses, landing off to the side of your cheek when you turn your head to avoid it. She opens her eyes, sitting back, and smiles at the expression on your face.

“You knew already?” you say.

“Kinda,” Clarke replies softly, holding your stare only to look away a second later. She fiddles with the edge of your shirt, pushing it up until her hands find the softness of your skin. “The way Danny talks about her… It reminds me of you.”

“What are you trying to say?” you mutter, feigning confusion as you make an attempt to pull her closer.

The smile that takes her lips is slow, and you find it's hard not to match it. “You were a goner from day one.”

“I have a reputation,” you say, voice low, and you can’t help that skip in your heartbeat at the way Clarke looks at you.

Her hands shuck your shirt higher, the cool air of your room causing your skin the pebble with goosebumps. You let out this breathy laughter, cheeks flushing, and Clarke leans down to capture your lips with her own.

 

  
16.

“What do you think?” you say. You watch Clarke next to you, chair pulled close and you can see the concentration in the little crease of her brow as she skims over the pamphlet. You kiss her temple absently and she finds your hand, weaves it together with hers.

“Harrison is taken care of and things are slow at the station…”

Clarke nods. You feel her trace your wedding ring with her thumb as she reads the pamphlet over for a second time more carefully. She glances at you once she finishes.

“It certainly seems very you.”

“You think I’d be good at it?”

There’s nothing but sincerity in her eyes. “I think you’d be great.”

 

  
27.

Jack and Danny bolt the second the front door swings open, making a beeline for the car, and your left to fend for yourself with the bags of tee ball equipment you’ve got hanging from your shoulders, nudging uncomfortably against your thighs. You hear Clarke snicker behind you and you turn just in time to see her take pity on you, squeezing past in the narrow hallway to hold the door open for you.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” she says as you pass, leaning in to steal a kiss that lingers for longer than probably necessary. You pull away before you want to though, when out of the corner of your eye you see the two troublemakers attempting to clamber up into their seats.

“Hold down the fort,” you mutter, stealing a quick kiss for the road before pulling away completely.

Clarke grins. “Sure thing, coach.”

And right then there’s nothing you want more than to kiss that smug look right off her face.

 

* * *

 

The park isn’t more than ten minutes away. It’s big, with a large field and an well worn baseball diamond and connected basketball courts where the ‘big’ kids play. Danny and Jack stay close, more than aware of the boundaries you set on the car ride here, but you can see in their eyes that they’re looking to see what they can and can’t get away with.

What you don’t expect is how unprepared you are being the sole point of attention of nine little human children. After all, when you signed up for this it didn’t seem like that big of a step-up from five.

“You’ve done this before?” asks the father of a little girl named Charlie (who far enjoyed picking the flowers in the outfield than playing ball) after it’s all over. You’re still a bit jittery with adrenaline, but overwhelmingly pleased with the turn of events. You’re still not quite sure what to make of the parents though.

His name is Luke, and even in late spring, his skin is heavily tanned, light brown hair short but wavy, and you can see the calluses on his hands from a mile away. He helps you pack the gear as the other parents mingle and gossip before their journey home.

You shake your head, checking to make sure Danny and Jack are still near. “No.”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me.”

“My wife tells me I’m good with kids,” you say, glancing at him. You don’t find anything but acceptance.

“It shows,” he replies with a smile. He doesn’t say anything else. You straighten, slinging the bag of batting equipment over your shoulder, and wait. He hands you the other. “You need any help though, just let me know. Or any of us. Some of these kids can be a handful.”

And you chuckle at that. “I know all about handfuls,” you say, searching subconsciously for your kids. You find them roughhousing a couple feet away and Luke’s smile widens. “But thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” he says, waving it off.

On the drive home you roll the windows down and it feels almost too good to be true.

 

  
29.

Madi’s delighted squeals echo through the hall and into the kitchen, followed quickly by a train of thudding feet. You don’t need to look to see the game of chase that weaves its way around the kitchen and then back into the hall and finally into the living room, Clarke, ever the instigator, picking up the rear.

The squeals come to a crescendo and you turn to see Clarke scoop up Madi in her arms, messily kissing her chubby cheeks as the others manage to scatter away, spared the unfortunate fate of capture.

You turn back around, resuming your task of peeling and quartering the potatoes. Your chest feels light though, in that all encompassing way where it seems as though you’re close to bursting, and you pull a hand away to rub your eye with the back of your wrist.

“Lexa?” Clarke’s voice is close and you glance behind you to see her with Madi on her hip and this softness in her eyes. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Clarke purses her lips, and you know she’s trying not to call you on it. She shifts Madi in her arms to garner her attention, and they stare at each other, Clarke seriously and Madi open and curious. It’s a moment before your wife says, “Your momma is full of shit.”

“Clarke--”

“Shit!” Madi is quick to repeat. They both descend into giggles, Clarke pressing her forehead to her daughter’s. Their blonde hair mingles together and Clarke’s cheeks dimple when she smiles.

Clarke pulls away after a quick peck to the crown of Madi’s head. “How about a kiss hmm?” she mutters to Madi, gesturing to you with a tilt of her head, “I think momma needs it more than any of us.”

Madi nods, one hand relinquishing it's grip on Clarke’s shirt so she can lean towards you. Her fingers reach for you, and once she has a good enough grasp she kisses you messily on the cheek. Your heart settles, and you look at Clarke in hope that she understands.

“Please don’t swear around the kids, Clarke,” you say and her eyes sparkle.

“I love you,” she says instead and there’s no question she does.

 

* * *

 

“She’s turning two, Lexa. It’s not the end of the world,” Clarke tells you later that night, curled around you in bed. Her voice is muffled into your shirt sleeve and you had thought she was asleep, but you should have known she wasn’t. If you aren’t, neither is she.

You exhale softly, maneuvering so you’re no longer staring blankly at the ceiling, and Clarke only slightly manages to subdue the impulse to groan her displeasure at the shift. She accommodates you though and you hide your face against Clarke’s neck and breathe.

“Sometimes it just feels like a lot,” you mutter and Clarke slips her hand under your shirt.

“I know.”

The world goes quiet then and you fall asleep to the feeling of Clarke’s nails brushing softly over your skin.

 

  
30.

Things move too fast, you realize. In certain ways. You feel like you remember Madi’s first steps and her first words like it was yesterday, as if it was here in this very house and not thousands of miles away in a tiny little cabin in the woods. You remember her small and swaddled in one of Clarke’s shirts and the feeling of her tucked safely against your chest.

You also realize not much has changed. She’s bigger and louder, and you’d swear she looks more like Clarke every day. She still begs to be picked up and swung and sucks her thumb on occasion, but she always likes to nap with you. It's not even half past noon and she’s already clocked out on top of you and you’ll savor it, because it’s only a matter of time until she’s high on frosting and only the devil can put her to sleep.

“I see how it is.”

Your eyes flutter open from that half sleep and you lift your head to find Clarke peering at the both of you from the hallway

“Use the birthday girl as an excuse to get out of helping.”

You blink rapidly and begin to lift yourself up. Madi grips a little tighter. “I’m not--”

“I’m just teasing you,” she says, soft, and after a moment you let your head fall back onto the couch with a sigh, but your heart feels warm. “Think you two will be awake enough to join us for lunch?”

You pat Madi’s back gently, trailing your fingers over her shirt and she presses closer, rubbing her face against your tee. "Give us a minute."

"Take as long as you like," Clarke says, and there's a silent pause before you hear her wander back into the kitchen.

You take a moment to breathe and the world comes back slowly piece by piece.

 

 

 


	8. May

 

1.

The first of may is warm and the park is busy because of it, just hitting that seventies range and after a month of fifties and those barely sixties you revel in that short sleeve weather. The wind tugs, a bit cold when the sun dips behind the clouds as it begins its descent in the west, but it's nothing if not refreshing against the heat of your skin.

Clarke likes it too. If the way you catch her watching you is any indication. On the sidelines, keeping tabs on Lily and Madi as they play off to the side of the bleachers in the grass. It’s the last practice before the kids’ first game on saturday, and despite perhaps your teams’ tendency to get distracted, you think you might be ready. Or ready as you’ll ever be.

You pack up with the last few rays of sun, handing out the supplied team jerseys to your group of tiny players. Half of them wear it like dresses, but are excited at the concept, and you’ve grown to like each of them in your own way. Charlie still likes her flowers and Katie lacks the skill but more than makes up for it in enthusiasm. There’s even another ‘aiden’ but he’s so far from your own son that you have a little trouble calling him by name.

By the time all the uniforms are distributed (Danny proudly displaying her lucky number 7) and the last few parents make their way back to the parking lot, not much remains. There’s stragglers, runners after work taking advantage of the last few moments of nice weather, and couples strolling the paths that bisect the park, lingering by the pond and the ducks. They keep to themselves and so do you.

Clarke meets you out by the diamond, leaning into you and kissing the curve of your jaw, sneaking a hand under the loose fabric of your henley. She brushes her thumb over your hip and you can feel the cold press of her ring against your warm skin.

You lean to the side to kiss her cheek, keeping your eyes ahead as Danny does a lap around plates in her new shirt. With no one else in the near vicinity, the other four are quick to join and you and Clarke stand on the sidelines and regard the game of tag unfolding out before you with barely restrained amusement.

Madi trips somewhere between homebase and the pitcher’s mound, nearly face first into the dirt with a thump, hands splayed to catch herself instead of latching onto Danny’s shirt as she intended. Your immediate instinct is to check on her, but you don’t even make it half a foot before Clarke reels you back in.

“She’s fine,” Clarke says, and you watch as your youngest shakes herself off before bracing her hands firmly on the ground, planting her feet flat, and then hauls herself up like nothing happened. She’s back in the fray not seconds later. “See?”

That doesn’t completely get rid of the bits of worry still present in your gut. “Yesterday she hit her head on the kitchen table and she cried for twenty minutes.”

“That’s a gross over exaggeration,” Clarke says, pinching the skin at your hip and you turn to look at her, eyebrow quirked and practically asking for trouble. She moves to stand in front of you, drapes her arms over your shoulders and you sigh when she leans in to touch her nose to yours. “It was five tops.”

“Because I was there to make it stop," you mutter and it gets you the kiss you were hoping for.

It’s soft and quick, which is good, you guess in the long run, because you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket and you have to let her go to answer it. You see Anya’s name, but before you pick up the call you dip to press a kiss to Clarke’s cheek.

“Am I interrupting something?” comes Anya’s voice as you turn away, looking out towards the parking lot. Clarke smirks at you before focusing her attention towards the kids.

“Yes,” you say, monotone. The wind picks up, tugging at your hair, and you run your hand through it, pulling it over your shoulder and out of your face.

“We need your help,” she says, and there’s something in Anya’s voice you don’t like.

 

2.

“Around four thirty yesterday, a couple stumbled across three bodies in an alley near Cadbury,” Anya tells you the next morning as she plops down a manila file down onto your desk. You glance up at her, holding her stare for a brief second before reaching out to open the file.

What you see first is a picture of a man, close cropped hair, beard, and then the evidence photos of the scene paperclipped together with a typed-up report. You skim it as Anya continues her debrief.

“Two women and a man. Multiple puncture wounds, dumped by the looks of it. So far they appear unrelated, but identification will take some time. Our culprit here made sure any identifying aspects were removed.”

“Is that what you need me for?” you begin. “Identification?”

‘We--” and Anya stops. Starts again, “I have reason to believe it’s a rogue.”

You look up at that. “A rogue?”

“Recent most likely.” She points to one of the photos, documentation of the bodies and the injuries sustained. “Most of the inflicted wounds are from a knife or sharp object, but here,” and she points, “and here… The only possible explanation is teeth and no human can do that.”

“Are they working alone?”

“As of right now, it’s unclear.”

You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose, and you gather your thoughts together before they escape you. You can only hope you’re ready for what follows.

 

* * *

 

“Please be careful, Lexa, that’s all I’m asking.”

You purse your lips, tugging off your undershirt shirt and folding it neatly. You place it over the button up folded across your desk chair, followed by your bra, and then scrounge about for a t-shirt in the top right drawer of your dresser. It’s an old Uni tee, one that Clarke wears more often than you do now, but that’s part of the comfort. Threadbare and soft, it drapes loosely, and you pull your hair free, shaking it out.

“When am I not?” you ask, turning to face Clarke with this sly little smile, hoping to dissuade the tension. She stands behind you, already ready for bed, arms crossed and her hip cocked, but she doesn’t rise to take the bait.

Clarke shakes her head, uncrossing her arms as she takes those few steps forward into your space. She reaches out for your hair, cards her fingers gently through the strands and braids, untangling knots as she goes. She clicks her tongue when you try to kiss her, leaning back just out of your reach, focused, and your resign yourself to the attention. You study the crease in her brow and the tension she holds in her jaw and think this is one of the many reasons why you love her.

“I will be,” you say softly. “But I won’t stand idly by if there’s something I can do to help. Neither would you.”

Clarke’s hands still, and you watch her inhale slowly and hold it for a beat too long before it all escapes in a rush. She knows you’re right, there are just certain times where she hates to admit it. Her lips purse, hands now fiddling with the bent collar of your t-shirt.

When you lean in to kiss her this time she lets you.

 

3.

The place Anya drags you too first is some corner store at the edge of the city. She grabs a coffee for herself and an iced one for you, but it spends more time in the cupholder of the cruiser than it does in your hand as the streets steadily become abundant and busier. Morning rush has past, and while the roads are still lively it's easily traversed. You make it to your destination around ten o’clock

The scene is still sectioned off, the abandoned apartment of the alleged suspect, and there’s only one other man you recognize. You don’t know his name, but Anya addresses him as you bypass them into the space, ducking under the caution tape. You hear them discuss updates from the forensic team about the dump where they found the bodies, and it’s nothing more than what you told them yesterday.

In your opinion, everything reeks, but it's part of the job. There’s trash in the sink and the table is covered with dishes caked in leftover food probably a week old. Clothes litter the floor, ripped up newspapers, and when you finally make it into the living room you don’t need your heightened sense of smell or even your sight to know that’s blood stained into the carpet. Your nose does tell you other things, however.

It’s a mix, and when Anya wanders over to you after finishing up with her subordinate, you glance at her to make sure you have her attention before speaking. “It’s not alone,” you say, soft enough where your tone doesn’t draw extra attention. You gesture to the blood. “Or at least it wasn’t.”

Anya quirks a brow, but you see her mouth settle into a grin. “We’d save so much time and money if you’d just come back full time, you realize that right?”

“I’m a family woman, you know that.” The smile doesn’t fade, and before Anya has the chance to tease you about how bad Clarke and the kids have you wrapped around their fingers (like you’d have it any other way) you cut her off. “This was supposed to be my month with the kids.”

Anya’s face falls, but you see it for only a fraction of a second. You know in spite of her insistent teasing, Anya recognizes and acknowledges the entire world comes in second to your family.

Though that doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy your job. There’s a certain satisfaction only it can bring.

“Well,” Anya says, “The sooner we’re done the better.”

 

4.

On friday you go in late. You wake up with Clarke and the kids, though it's more along the lines of rousing disorientated the second Clarke leaves the circle of your arms, pulling away from your grasp. You groan halfheartedly, your nose no longer buried among the mess of her hair and you miss the scent immediately.

There’s the quiet part of your morning where you make breakfast hip to hip in the kitchen with Clarke--after you get ready and join her downstairs with your shirt untucked and half-buttoned. Clarke scrambles the eggs and you mix up the batter for pancakes and she fixes you up in the lull between.

Aden is the first into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and bumping into his chair before climbing up into it. He’s just following his nose, you’re sure, eyes still half closed, sleep clinging stubbornly to him.

It’s another ten or so before you hear the noises stir upstairs. You pile the pancakes onto a plate, depositing it onto the table as you pass, ruffling Aden’s hair. Halfway upstairs you hear the bathroom door squeak open and Jack greets you with a yawn. He grins this toothy smile when he notices you--giggles as you lumber closer to kiss his cheek and forehead.

His footsteps patter away as he makes his way downstairs. You nudge open Lily and Madi’s bedroom door and Lily picks her head up at the sound, looking for you. Her hair’s a rats nest, sticking this way and that, but the cuteness outweighs the inevitable herculean task of combing it out later.

By nine, all of you are situated around the table. You finish up your cup of coffee, going over notes on your phone while Clarke finishes eating the last of her pancakes drenched in syrup. She’s in the hall with you when you go to leave, the kids’ chatter quiet from the kitchen. She pulls you in by the hips, kisses you soundly there in the space all by yourselves and it leaves you dazed.

It’s certainly one of the better mornings this week.

 

5.

You take saturday off thanks to the big game and Anya doesn’t say a word about it. Danny is a jittery mess in the backseat of the car for the duration of the drive, and you have to stop yourself from checking the rearview mirror every few seconds just so you can see her in her seat with her hat and her shirt tucked into her cute white baseball pants and her glove already permanently attached to her hand.

She’s out of her seat the second you unbuckle her, though, making a beeline for the field and your not quick enough to snag her. She doesn’t respond when you call her, and your’re lucky you’re early and the parking lot isn’t busy yet. You dart off to catch her just as Clarke looks up from her task of unbuckling the rest of the kids from their booster seats.

You close the distance quickly, grabbing a fistful of Danny’s jersey, and then escort her back to the car while reiterating proper parking lot behavior. You know she’s just excited, but you tell her that’s no excuse not to be careful. Danny has at least the decency to look guilty.

The rest of the team shows up thirty or so minutes later. Luke is last and decidedly alone. He smiles at you, waves to Clarke and the kids, and Charlie rushes to join the circle that’s already formed by home plate. When the other team arrives as well, you can’t help the slight prideful puff of your chest as you regard your group of toddlers lined up and ready near the benches.

You’re not one to brag, but you’re pretty sure you have the best team in the league. Or at the very least in the downtown area.

You also know that winning isn’t everything, especially not at this age. It’s about laughter and participation in whatever form--about encouragement and having fun. Danny excels in it, and while there aren’t many, any pop-up that’s within twenty feet is an easy catch. By the fifth inning, bits of her hair escape from the cap, tickling her cheek, her jersey practically untucked as she darts back and forth out in the field no matter if she gets the ball or not. The others avoid her and Jack watches with a mix of confusion and curiosity. It doesn’t stop her from trying.

 

* * *

 

“You have to give the other kids a chance to catch the ball, Danny,” you tell her when she comes in at the end of the inning, crouching down in front of her. She doesn’t really listen, glancing longingly back over her shoulder as the other team takes the outfield.

“I can catch it really good though, momma,” she says when she turns around again and you can’t help but smile a bit because it's true.

“Just because you can make it to home plate from the outfield doesn’t mean you should.”

She pouts, pursing her lips and scrunching her brows. You ruffle her hair, kiss her cheek, and the giggles that bubble forth are music to your ears.

 

6.

You hop down from the backseat of the cruiser and try to ignore the wide eyed double-takes from the pedestrians walking by as you shake out the kinks in your muscles. The backseat always seems cramped in this form, no matter how you decide to sit.

The only thing that saves you from prolonged staring is the bandana tied around your neck, signifying the ‘k-9’ unit of south county police department. You hate the thing, but it’s better than a collar and leash. And at least you don’t have to worry anymore about the rookies shooting you by accident. You stick close to Anya’s side anyway, a buffer to the enquiring eyes as you go about your job.

There’s a lot of smells to sift through, especially one that’s nearly six days old, but you’re the best at what you do for a reason. The station had received a tip concerning a couple of shady individuals not far from the recent site and it’s a simple thing to match two and two together.

“Find anything?” Anya asks as you trot by and you give a whole shake your head with a huff. You continue your search near the mouth of the alley, nose to the ground.

It takes a moment or two, but you manage to pick up a scent not entirely human and you take one more lap around the area just to be sure there wasn’t something you missed. You’re relieved to find there isn’t.

The scent appears to lead down park avenue, and from what you know from experience is essentially a straight shot to a stretch of woods that spreads out west. But with the smell as faint as it is, the likelihood of following it to the source is closer to zero, especially with the scent of rain close on the horizon.

You take off in the direction anyway, practically hearing Anya’s eye roll, but the muffled, exasperated ‘wolves,’ comes in loud and clear. You pick up the pace just for her.

 

7.

The house is dark when you get home from a late night at the station and your frustration only amplifies when you somehow managed to stub your pinky toe on the first stair. To your credit, none of the swears are above a whisper, clutching at your foot until the pain subsides, but it leaves you in a bitter mood as you climb the steps up to the second floor and then down the hall to your room.

Clarke is already in bed, bundled up in an excess of blankets despite the oncoming heat of May. The window is open, the breeze a breath of fresh air, and you only bother with your pants and socks and jacket, tossing them aside, before crawling into bed with her. She rolls over at the disturbance, facing towards you, but she doesn’t open her eyes.

You tangle your legs with hers, scooting closer until your foreheads touch and Clarke hums low in her throat. You kiss the tip of her nose, her lips, the apple of her cheek and you’re not surprised by how fast the bitterness subsides.

“Lexa... _Lexa_ ,” Clarke mumbles under her breath, face scrunching. “Lexa, I’m trying to sleep.”

So you stop, exhaling softly in the darkness and letting the tension ease its way through your system. Of all the dead-ends and setbacks and failures.

Clarke finds your arm, pulls lazily it over her hip. “You stopped,” she says, voice barely above of whisper, but she seems more awake now, closing the distance between you until not much remains.

“You told me to.”

Her hand finds the fabric of your blouse and holds fast. “I changed my mind.”

You duck your head, pressing your lips to her temple, and the last thing you see before you close your eyes is the small, satisfied curl to Clarke’s lips.

 

8.

You get to the field just after six and you park right next to a very familiar suv. You make your way out to the diamond, but you can hear the laughter from the parking lot. You can’t help but feel a bit too dressed up for this, and though your blazer is folded over your arm, your badge is still clipped to your belt. The rest of parents over by the bleachers are a group of jeans and t-shirts and yoga pants, and they look at you somewhat curiously. Clarke herself is in joggers and one of your light sweaters, but the subtle lift of her brow when she spots you is a sure sign she enjoys what she sees.

“Welcome,” she says, looking down at you from her seat at the edge of the bleachers. When you’re within reach she dips low for a kiss you’re happy to give. “Glad you could make it, coach.”

“Did I miss much?” you ask, handing her your blazer so you can roll up your sleeves.

“They just started.” You hear a solid thwack as a bat collides with a ball and sends it sailing and you turn to watch Jack giddily run the bases in a victory lap, Luke (and Charlie by his heels) making sure he runs the bases the right direction this time. “They’re practicing their swings.”

“Thank you for bringing the equipment.”

Clarke shrugs, smiles. “Pleasure’s all mine.” She props her elbow on her knee, rests her chin in the palm of her hand. “Another kiss would be nice, though.”

 

9.

“Clarke--”

“When will we see you?”

You turn away, leaning against the doorframe and away from the breakroom. The sound of Anya as she goes about fiddling with the company coffee machine builds behind you. You’re not sure how much a cup of coffee will do you this late but you’ll take what you can get.

“Probably not until sometime tomorrow afternoon. We have a good lead and if everything goes as planned… it’ll be over.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

She inhales quietly and the exhale follows shortly afterward. “Okay.”

 

10.

You remember in bits and pieces. That sudden sharp sting of pain when the knife slips deep into your side during the scuffle. The funny thing is that it disappears almost instantly--the pain--and you continue the chase as if nothing happened. Clarke says you have a one-track mind sometimes and you know you do. You’re not here to take your time, you’re here to get work done, to make the world a better place for your family, your children. You just weren’t expecting it. Rogues are impulsive and rash and in that way predictable, quick to use their teeth, so when it hits you, it does so all at once.

You remember the ground. The sudden rush of it when you stumble, limbs tangled. The way your nose and the side of your face scrapes the ground. You remember the moment you took to breathe, so fleeting in a sense, how the shift back happens unconsciously, the earth warm and rough against your cheek.

And you remember Clarke. First just the white of her fur a blur from far away. The cold touch of her nose, the insistent scared whines. But then... soft hands and her worried face.

You blink. “Clarke.”

“Don’t,” she says, voice high and trembling even as she gently cups your cheeks in her hands, swipes her thumbs over the smudges and scrapes. Her hair is windswept and golden in the early morning rays and there’s nothing you want more than to dig your fingers deep into the softness there.

“I can’t--” She fusses, talking mostly to herself as she moves her hand from your cheek to your side and holds it there. Somewhere off in the distance you hear shouts, anya’s voice among others... “--on my goddamn birthday Lexa, you absolute piece of--”

“Clarke.” And she looks up, brows pinched in concern and dirt on her chin. “I’m fine.”

She tries not to laugh and it comes out watery and strained and you can tell she’ll be mad about this for awhile.

It probably serves you right.

 

* * *

 

You wake up later in a small hospital room. Sparse with white walls and curtains. The breeze comes in through the open windows and you greedily inhale the sharpness of the air until the pain in your side flares violently. You groan, attempting to shift to alleviate some of the discomfort only to stop the second Clarke pushes her way into the room.

You don’t say anything, figuring it safer to wait. Clarke catches you watching though, holds your stare as she plops down into the chair next to your bed. She scoots closer. “I’m mad at you right now.”

“I know.”

“I told you to be careful.”

You exhale, somewhat painstakingly, and lean back against the pillow, breathing as deep as your side will allow. You’re intimately aware of the way your skin stretches and pulls and the itch of the stitches. Clarke holds out her hand for you and you don’t hesitate to take it.

“Anya called me,” Clarke says and you can tell by the sound of her voice that she doesn’t like the memory. “Told me they had lost you somewhere out near Levy Park chasing some rogue, that you might have been wounded and--” She rubs her other hand across her forehead, pushes back her hair with a shaky inhale. You still see the dirt smudged on the underside of her chin. “I was scared I wouldn’t be able to find you.”

“You did.” You squeeze her hand, clearing your throat. “You always do.”

She smiles this small thing, hangs her head and her shoulders droop.

“The kids?”

“Gustus. Though Mrs. Jefferson was kind enough to watch them until he was able to get there.” She exhales, wipes the palm of her hand across her eyes. “Remind me to get her something nice as a thank you.”

You watch her, tired but unwilling to close your eyes, and her grip goes tight on your hand for a second, releases. You pull it close, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, and she leans over to rest her head lightly on your shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Gustus greets you later that day when you finally make it home. He has this big smile and at the sound of the door and your voices, the kids come hurtling from around the corner of the kitchen. Gustus manages to block most of them from launching themselves at you, but Madi is small and able to squeeze past and jump at you. You catch her, like always, and there’s nothing you can do about the pain but grin and bear it.

“Hello to you too.” You kiss her cheek and she giggles. Clarke is quick to pull her away, settling the unruly toddler on her hip instead.

“Still alive I see,” Gustus says, grinning. "Though I heard from Anya you gave as good as you got."

You give a subtle shake of your head. “It’s just a scratch.”

Gustus glances at Clarke, who rolls her eyes and moves past, shooing the kids back into the kitchen. There’s some of Gustus’ trademark venison stew in a pot on the stove, the rich smell a welcome change from the staleness of the hospital, although it leaves you a little queasy. Gustus stays for dinner, his large frame an anomaly at your kitchen table but you’re grateful for the stability his presence brings.

The kids can’t convince him to stay for dessert, no matter how hard Jack pleas, but he tells you not to hesitate to call should the need arise.

They don’t know, or at least don’t understand the severity of the circumstances. You’re not sure what Clarke told them this morning, but you catch Aden watching you almost worried like after dinner while Gustus says his goodbyes. His little hands fidget with the hem of his shirt, wrings and tugs, and it’s like you can see the swirl of his thoughts behind his eyes. You pull him aside in the hallway, crouching down to be eye to eye, smiling softly.

“Y-you’re o-okay right, momma?” he asks, and he seems to be fighting back the urge to cry. He insistently wipes the back of his hands across his eyes and it's the moment he realizes he can’t keep up with the tears that he breaks down.

It’s not loud, but it’s kind of unnerving even for you. He has trouble controlling his breathing and he stutters and shakes and you pull him into the circle of your arms. He holds you tight, presses his face into the t-shirt Clarke had brought to the hospital for you to change into and stays there.

“I’m okay,” you say, ignoring the sting in your side and bumping your heads together. “Sometimes I just work too hard.”

Out of the corner of your eye you catch Clarke just around the corner. She holds your stare, eyes tired, but she smiles a tiny bit and it’s like being able to breathe.

 

* * *

 

You inhale through your teeth at the sharp stab of pain as Clarke helps you out of your shirt later that night, you seated at the edge of your bed with Clarke knelt between your knees. Her fingers are gentle, skating along the edges of the gauze and the still tender skin, but you can’t help the wince when she presses a little too hard and she looks up at the sound of the bitten back whimper that escapes you.

She toys with the edge of the bandage, the part of her that is very much Abby’s daughter evident in the gesture, but she stops herself and rests her hands on your hips.

“Happy birthday,” you say softly. She glances up at you, just for a second, and smiles something small and quiet and you think you see tears her eyes, but you can’t be sure.

She takes a deep breath and gives a small shake of her head. “How are you?”

“Sore,” you reply and it’s meant in all seriousness. You watch as she stands and pulls off her own shirt, steps out of her pants. She leaves the clothes in a pile on the floor, urging you back and under the covers, before turning off the bedside lamp and joining you in bed.

Clarke’s attentive and far too gentle that it drives you a little insane. You’re not dying, but you know saying that outloud would make things worse. Clarke feels things deeply, and if you’re being honest with yourself, if you had found Clarke in a state similar to your own this morning you’d be much more of a mess than her.

“I’m sorry,” you say and Clarke sighs. You feel her breath, the warmth of her cheek where she presses it to your back and listens. The touch of her skin against yours makes you calm.

“You don’t have to apologize, Lexa.”

You know it's the same for her, too.

 

11.

“Lexa, if I see you with even one foot out of bed i’m going to murder you myself.”

You feel a bit out of it to be honest, left to wonder what exactly was in those painkillers Abby managed to secure for you. Though a little doped up, you still know better than to test Clarke when she takes that tone with you.

“With love?” You relax again, leaning back until you feel the comforting give of your pillow.

“Yes, with love." She sighs. "Now please just... relax. Today. For me.”

Your eyes follow her as she moves about your room, making things easy for you. You’re not incapacitated. You can move and walk around with minor stress on your injury if you take your time. In fact, if you’re not fully healed by Monday, you’d be surprised. But you realize the sentiment.

“I hate lying in bed,” you say, and Clarke chuckles as she returns to your beside.

“Well, if you were more careful maybe you wouldn’t be in this predicament.” She kisses you softly and then pulls away. “I’m going to check on the kids. Stay put.”

You doze off not too long later, stretched out over your bed. There’s a breeze from outside that drifts pleasantly into your space, keeps you cool and comfortable and you drift in and out of consciousness for the better part of what feels like hours. it's a welcome change of pace then when you rouse to huffs and quiet giggles as your children clamber up onto the bed. Danny launches herself, scrambles up and over the side, while Aden and Lily take the softer approach.

“They wanted to see you,” Clarke says from the door. You turn your head to look at her before returning your attention to the kids.

“You smell like peanut butter,” you tell Jack who snuggles up on your left, rubbing his face against your shirt. Clarke has to help Madi up onto the bed, who tugs at your sheets but lacks the strength and dexterity to pull herself up. The moment you see her face, chubby cheeks and the remnants of her sandwich, your lips split into a wide smile.

Clarke joins after a moment, squeezing in between the kids so she can situate herself carefully on your injured side. She sighs when her head finds your shoulder, tugging up Madi who bumbles over your legs trying to find a spot to curl up and nap like the rest of her siblings.

On that calm friday afternoon you all find a little bit of peace.

 

12.

“How are you feeling?”

“Clarke.”

“Answer the question please.”

“I’m--” and she shoots you this look and you shut your mouth. You think through your response before continuing. “--doing better.”

You place the last of the snacks in the cooler for the game, some juice boxes and chopped fruit and bottles of water. When you turn back Clarke’s still waiting. “You can handle it?”

“I appreciate your concern, love...” You reach out for her, snaking a hand around her waist to pull her close. “But I’m more than capable of handling of group of human children, Clarke, injured or not.”

“Uh huh,” she says with this little smirk, running her hand over your side and you try your best to mask the wince. “I’ve seen you on the sidelines, coach,” Clarke mutters and you kiss her before she has the chance to say anything else.

 

13.

“Mom...? Dad? What’re you doing here?” You hear Clarke say as your make your way downstairs, cinching the buckle of your belt. You make it to the bottom just as Clarke sets down Madi onto the floor and your youngest is off the second her feet touch hardwood, making a beeline for Abby’s arms.

“Lexa told us you needed a babysitter,” Abby says, scooping up her granddaughter in one swoop and planting kisses over red cheeks.

“But we don’t--”

“Grampy!” Jack yells, giggling like mad as he hurtles past Clarke and into his grandfather’s waiting arms.

Jake laughs, catching Jack under the arms and swinging upward, Jack’s screams a mixture of elation and excitement. Jake places him back down gently, but just one liftoff isn’t enough to satisfy and your son pesters for more.

“I’m pretty sure you need one,” Jake says above the noise, giving you a wink, and it takes a moment but Clarke’s head swivels and her eyes lock with yours.

Your smile is this soft tilt of your lips as you watch the bob in Clarke’s throat as she swallows, her eyes lingering on your mouth, stumbling down the exposed line of your neck to the dip of your loose blouse and where it’s tucked into snug black jeans. You know it’s the pair Clarke loves if only because of the way her eyes get stuck on your hips, the way her cheeks flush this pretty pink.

Abby and Jake round up the kids for a trip to Friendly’s for milkshakes and fries and maybe some real food, followed by a movie night over at the grandparents. It leaves the house pleasantly quiet.

“What’s all this for?” Clarke asks as she gets ready, slipping on this cute jean jacket over a floral print sundress that flares gently over her waist.

“I love you.”

“I know you do,” Clarke says, looking up at you and your chest feels tight. “I love you, too.”

She trials her hands down your sides, gentle, fingers twisting into the space between your belt and the loops of your jeans and tugs. You let out this breathy little hum when your stomachs touch and the only thing that keeps you from kissing her senseless right here and now is that you have all night.

And you’re looking to make the most of it.

 

* * *

 

You take her to this nice restaurant you pass everyday for work. It’s rustic, brick walls and candles and tall champagne glasses--different kinds of spoons that you and Clarke pretend to know when and how to use. The food is good, but you don’t remember much of it once it’s gone.

The two of you take a walk along the strip afterward, hip to hip and stealing kisses in the darkness between the street lamps. You buy her a drink at a pub down the road that you take turns sipping while sitting as close as you can get without have to share a seat. Your knees knock together and you lean in until your foreheads touch so you can talk to her over the sound of the band.

You take an uber back home, stumble up the steps of the porch like teenagers. Clarke presses up behind you, kissing the slope of your shoulder while you attempt to unlock the front door with impatient hands. She kicks it closed behind her once you’re both inside, stripping herself of her jacket and it crumples to the floor. You turn and cup her cheeks in your hands and kiss her like you wanted to hours ago. You smile through most of it and Clarke laughs into your mouth, giving your butt a brief squeeze.

“Are you going to take me to bed or…?” Clarke says against your mouth and your lips tilt up into a grin.

She pushes you back towards the stairs and you dip to reach for her thighs, lifting them up and around your waist. You kick off your shoes and her arms wrap around your neck and you nearly trip walking up the steps when she nips at the line of your jaw, dull and only the hint of teeth but a promise nonetheless. She laughs.

You stumble into your room, setting Clarke on her feet so you can tug at the hem of her dress, bunching the fabric in your hands near her waist and Clarke gets the memo and raises her arms. Your fingertips trail along her ribs, up and up until you’ve tugged the dress over and off.

She kicks off her flats and you back her up till the back of her knees hit the bed and she falls back among the sheets, dragging you with her. You catch yourself before the collapse, hands on either side of her head, and you chase her skin and the sound of her laughter. When your lips find the underside of her chin, she tilts her head back and sighs. It takes a moment for her to come back, but the second she does her fingers clumsily reach to undo the buttons of your shirt one by one until it hangs open and she can curl her arm around your waist, tugging you soundly against her. The gasp you let out at the pain is involuntary.

“Clarke,” you exhale, your voice dissolving into a soft growl as her left hand moves from your side to your ass, fingers dipping into the back pocket of your jeans.

“Sorry,” she says, apologetic but amused, and you get stuck on the curl of her lips as she stares up at you. “You were saying?”

You pull away, sitting back, and Clarke smiles and your stomach does flips. It’s the way your mouth goes just a bit slack and Clarke laughs and your chest fills with warmth and you dip blindly for her lips.

Clarke pushes you over easily, her hands this gentle pressure on your shoulders until she’s sure you won’t move. She undoes your belt and the button of your jeans and you lift your hips without being told, allowing her to slip them off. You can see her clearly above you even in the darkness, hair in disarray, but her eyes are open and full of love.

“Have I told you that I love this shirt on you?” she says and you let out this soft whine, grabbing her hips as she fiddles distractedly with your open blouse.

Clarke knows you like the back of her hand and it doesn’t take much to get you to fall apart. With the kids, time is precious, but she grabs your hand in hers and there are moments when you believe time stops for you. Her breath is warm, her face tucked into your neck and you savor the sensation of your stomach and hers pressed together as your breathing steadies. She presses her lips to your neck absently as your body trembles, your hands flexing at her sides and when the world comes back you use your hips, angling just so until she loses her control and tips.

Though you’re willing to bet it’s more like she lets you, still a little high on the feeling of you. You take the time to reacquaint yourself her skin, your lips and the softness of her belly and the swell of her breasts. You make love to her slowly, until she’s trembling and flushed and the only sounds you hear are breathy sighs and gasps of your name.

And then you go again.

 

29.

The moon tugs at the corners of your mind as the sun sets and it’s something inherent in your bones and all the muscle and sinew. It’s a part of you just like everything else. A little wild, maybe, but still you.

You don’t know anything else, after all. You were born like this, like your kids, and your parents taught you what they knew before they weren’t. That you were a powerful thing, that you had stars in your blood and the strength to move mountains. But also to not always follow your nose and that home was where you made it.

It’s not like the movies. You feel a pull, a tug somewhere deep in your gut and you know not to fight it. Not tonight. You let it consume and it's like being submerged and holding your breath.

There’s pain, though brief and dull with time, and impulses when you resurface, but experience is all it takes to control it. It happens too fast for the pups to fear it, and in the moon’s silver light it’s more of a blessing to be all parts of themselves. They yip and howl, safe enough away from the suburban life you’ve built for them, you and Clarke a comfortable distance behind.

She bumps into you, footsteps soft among the leaves and branches, and you nip at her neck. Barely teeth, but she pushes against you again, playful, and you nudge her back before darting off deeper into the woods.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me at kokkoro on tumblr for more soft clexa trash and aus.


	9. June

 

4:37am

You wake up on that early morning in June to Clarke pulling herself reluctantly from the bed, shifting aside the thin sheets and the gentle grasp you had on her shirt. You open your eyes only briefly, blinking once, twice, before shutting them again as Clarke shuffles her way over to the bathroom. You roll towards the scent of her, listening only because there’s no way you can’t. It’s the hum of the exhaust as Clarke no doubt misses the switch for the light... the flush of the toilet and then the rush of the faucet. The bathroom door squeaks and she pads quietly back, bare feet and soft, and when she lifts the sheets to settle back in you sigh.

Despite the heat you can already feel, she hooks her leg around yours, her skin warm, and tugs your shirt up until the palm of her hand rests tenderly over your ribs. She exhales, and you feel it over your skin as she shifts to find the comfort she lost. You peek at her through the curls of your hair, studying the subtle flare of her lashes over her cheeks.

“We should get up soon.”

“Shhh…”

“Clarke--”

She burrows, ducking her head, tucking it under your chin. Her leg coils more securely around your ankle, tangling but also keeping you in place.

“If we want to get the most out of the morning--”

“It’s too early for this,” she mumbles into you.

“You said--”

“ _Shhh_...”

“Clarke.”

She doesn’t answer. Her eyes are closed and her breathing steadies and you stay still. When she finally decides to speak a few long minutes later, you dip your head close, your lips brushing the crown of her head.

“Everything’s packed and fine and just...” She breathes out. “Give me twenty quiet minutes in bed with you before the chaos starts, that’s all I’m asking.”

“Clarke.”

“‘Clarke’ me one more time and I’m kicking you out of bed.”

“Love,” you say instead, soft. A rumble deep in your throat, and you feel the warmth of her sigh against your neck as she nuzzles further into you.

 

5:15am

You get up first, used to the schedule as you are, leaving Clarke behind in the mess of your bed and tangled up in sheets. You have a pot of coffee going in seconds, sipping at your mug as you do a quick run-through of the few bags left on the kitchen table. Everything is where it should be. Blankets and a change of clothes, some bug spray and towels, ziplock bags for your phones and other items. Diapers. There’s a point where it becomes being ‘over prepared’, but you wouldn’t know that even if it hit you in the face.

You’re finishing packing up the cooler when Clarke finally decides to join you. She kisses your cheek, a part of her absent and running on auto-pilot, still dressed in just that t-shirt she wore to bed and you stare after her as she pours herself a cup of coffee from the pot.

You close the lid of the cooler, reaching blindly for the latch until it locks with an muted click. You follow after her, step for step until you’re pressed up close to her back, your hands at her waist. She laughs softly, spills a little bit of the coffee onto the counter as she goes to take a sip and you kiss the side of her neck.

“Lexa,” she says, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

“Hmm?”

She sets aside her mug, turning, and you lift her up just enough to place her gently on the countertop, hands slipping under her shirt, unsatisfied until you can feel the softness of her skin under your fingertips and your chest flush against her. Between her legs you feel at ease, content with the rush momentarily forgotten and you kiss her languid and slow. You’re eyes are closed and her lips are familiar and warm and the urge doesn’t stop.

(You could kiss her for years and if you had all the time in the world you’re sure you would try)

A little bit of the morning light finally inches its way into the kitchen, through the windows and onto the counter and when you glance at the clock on the microwave, your face tucked near Clarke’s neck as the two of you attempt to catch your breath, a part of you wants to ignore it. A part of you wants to lean back in for her lips and forget there’s things to be done and plans to be had and you allow yourself the indulgence for just a second longer before pulling back out of reach.

Clarke hops down from the counter, runs a hand through her hair, a faint smile holding her lips and flushed, and reaches for her mug.

“Kids?” you say and all she does is nod, offhand, brushing her thumb over her bottom lip.

She looks up. “I’ll go get changed.”

Clarke takes her mug of coffee with her upstairs and you head out to the car with the bags and the cooler. The air is light, the ground soaked with last night’s rain, and the earth seems to breathe easier because of it.  The morning sunlight catches the dew, sparkling, and the birds chirp to wakefulness and you stand there in the driveway after stuffing everything into the trunk, staring off down the road at the empty yards of your neighbors.

You don’t know why, but it makes you feel a little homesick, and you shut the hatch with a shove and head back inside.

It’s quiet, the kitchen empty, and you make your way upstairs, careful about making too much sound. You find Clarke in Lily and Madi’s room, voice soft and nonsensical as she lifts Madi from her crib, cradling her gently against her chest. Your daughter scrunches her nose, presses her face against Clarke’s shoulder and relaxes again.

The door creaks as you open it a tad wider and Clarke turns, smiles fondly at you. “The car all set?”

You nod, moving over to Lily’s bed and pulling her from among the blankets and her stuffed animals. She whines, not opening her eyes although annoyed at the disturbance, but much like Madi, she finds the crook of your neck and settles among your scent.

You shift her in your arms, holding her with your right as your reach out for her stuffed wolf with your left and then follow Clarke out of the room. You have the both of them buckled in the car, Lily with her wolf and Madi in her blankets sound asleep again, and then head back inside for the rest.

It’s a process. Jack sleeps heavily, and you carry him down to the car with little trouble, Clarke behind you with Danny, and then you make one last trip inside for Aden. On the way out, Clarke grabs her little satchel with the keys and locks the front door behind you.

“Where we goin’?” Aden mumbles, rubbing his eyes as you buckle him in between Lily and Madi. You comb your fingers through his sleep spiked hair, and his eyes droop at the touch.

“On an adventure,” you answer with a smile and he nods absently. You don’t think he listens.

Clarke hands you the keys after you finish, leaning in to kiss you out there in the driveway. It’s just lips, but you feel the sun at your back and Clarke warm at your front and you pull away only after a quick peck to her cheek.

You pull out of the driveway just after six o’clock, the windows rolled down to let the air in, and you know this is only the start.

 

8:06am

You pull into the parking lot of this little diner off the interstate in the middle of nowhere just as the kids begin to wake. They yawn and stretch, coming back to life slowly but surely in the backseat. Lily’s stuffed animal tumbles down to the floor of the car and you watch in the rearview mirror as her bottom lip puckers and her eyes water and a pitiful whimper comes to life in the back of her throat.  

“Baby,” Clarke says, shaking her head. She watches from the passenger seat, turned around as you pull into a spot near the front. You can see her amused smile out of the corner of your eye, her soft laughter and the gentle coos that follow. Lily whines as she reaches for her animal, but the booster seat keeps her in place.

You’re both out of the car the second it stops and you pull the keys free. The kids are eager to stretch their legs after a couple long hours in the car and their steps are excited if a bit uncoordinated. You can hear their stomachs growling from a mile away, and the look you receive from the older woman manning the counter when you all wander your way into the small diner is nothing short of shock.

Two regulars seated at the stools with their mugs of coffee and this morning’s paper glance over their shoulders as your entourage files in and you take a second to smile kindly at the lady behind the counter.

“Is it alright if we use your restroom?”

The lady chuckles. “First door on the right just around the corner.”

All seven of you pile into a booth near the back after a successful trip to the bathroom and the lady, Margaret, meets you there (‘Marge for short’ she tells you, and you’re partly proud and embarrassed when four out of five children parrot the name loudly back to her).

The kids get different flavors of milk and it comes in little paper cups with straws. Clarke orders a bloody mary and you get a small cup of coffee for yourself and not too long later there’s a platter of sausage and blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs with slices of bacon. Toasted bread and the little cups of jelly spreads the kids pick through in the wire basket at the end of the table.

You wipe away dribbles of syrup and smushed blueberry stains. Clarke sits across from you, helping Madi scoop bits of egg onto her spoon.

“Love,” you say, and Clarke’s eyes shift to you for just a moment before returning back to your daughter.

“Lexa,” she teases.

You see that little curl to her lips, those curious glances she can’t help but take afterward, and you wish she wasn’t so far away. Clarke seems to understand though. Somehow. She places the spoon down after Madi has finished and braces her forearms on the table, leaning over the expanse and you meet her halfway. The kiss is nothing like this morning, soft and brief as the kids go about their own thing around you, but you feel it there in the pit of your stomach and it’s nothing short of heavenly.

 

9:49am

It’s a challenge to get the little ones back in the car after breakfast but it's a task you can Clarke tackle with gusto. They’re restless with excess energy from the food and you manage to burn some of it out in the parking lot. You only have two hands and they are full as Danny and Jack pull you in the direction of the picnic tables outside on this small patch of grass near the side of the building. They run circles around it as you wait for Clarke to return from paying the bill.

You catch the scent of her on the breeze before you can see her, soft and thick, honey overlaid by the ‘fresh mountain air’ detergent Clarke likes to buy. Her hand finds the small of your back, a greeting, return, before she slips your card into the back pocket of your shorts followed by a light pat. You turn to find her with Madi on her hip and Lily holding tightly to Aden’s hand as they meander around the area looking for flowers and bugs.

You decide to give them a good thirty minutes before the parking lot starts to fill with families and local business, to get the energy out of their systems. It's you and Clarke on the little bench and your lap is a mess of flower petals and plucked grass, some of which manages to make its way into Clarke’s hair though you’d deny any part in it.

(there are five other pairs of hands you can blame it on and they always look far guiltier than you)

You’re back on the road not too long later. The wind from the highway rushes through the interior of the car, the kids settled in their seats and Clarke has stopped shooting you these pointed stares as she picks out the petals from her hair, letting them go out the window. You glance in the rearview and you seem them, hair tousled and in their face but content, captured by the wind and the smells and the way the earth moves around them.

 

12:51pm

The moment Aden recognizes his surroundings, the dense cluster of trees on either side of the long familiar road, you see him perk up there in the backseat between Lily and Madi, looking past and out the window with that wide-eyed kind of wonder. Lily turns too, pushes the hair from her face to see better, and you return your attention to the road trying not to smile.

“Are we there yet, momma?” Aden asks again, but the excitement is tenfold now that the connection has been made.

“Soon.”

“We made it!” Jack says almost immediately afterward, hearing only what he wants. There’s the telltale noises of him tugging at the strap of his seatbelt, leaning as close as he can to the open window, which thankfully isn’t much.

“Soon,” you repeat, but you don’t miss the sound of his exaggerated intake of breath, filling his lungs with the smell of the woods.

“Danny, hands in the car please,” Clarke says beside you, eyeing the rearview mirror.

The road curves, cutting between trees. Houses are near non existent this far deep into the reservation. The campground about thirty minutes back is the last human contact you’ll hopefully cross if you steer clear of the hiking trails that lead up to the mountain peak.

You drive until the road stops, until the pavement crumbles to dirt and tufts of grass and all that’s left is this field and the line of trees far out in the distance. An abundance of flowers, mostly dandelions, is scattered among the tall grass, spots of yellow peppered between weeds like stars.

The air is crisp here, a bit colder even with the summer sun, but you find it’s just about everything you need.

You cut off the ignition, tucking the keys under the seat, before opening the door and hauling yourself from the car. When you slide open the side door Danny’s face greets you. She holds out her arms expectantly and you undo the seatbelt, lifting her up from under her arms and placing her gently on the ground.

“Stay with me please, Danny,” you say, moving the seat up and reaching back for Madi. Her fingers grasp for you, mumbling her impatience, and when you manage to free her she latches onto your shirt and doesn’t let go. You settle her on your hip.

On the other side of the car, Clarke steadily works her way through the rest. Jack first and then Lily, followed lastly by Aden, who attempts to help and only serves to prolong the process, his fingers small compared to Clarke. You meet Clarke by the back of the car, opening the hatch one handed and it swings wide and up. Clarke helps you with the cooler, placing it in the dirt near the foot of the car.

You take out one of the backpacks next, handing it off to Clarke so she can sift through the pockets to find the bug-spray. Jack and Danny practically shove themselves forward, well aware that once they’re done they’re free to explore to their heart’s content. Within reason of course.

“Arms out, eyes closed,” you say as you place Madi down.

Madi’s hand holds fast, and instead of fighting her for your clothes, you cover her face with your hand, knelt beside her and light as Clarke quickly goes over her with the bug-spray. Madi sputters comically after you pull your hand away, and you take a moment to fix her little shirt so it's no longer bunched over her belly.

“Lily, baby,” Clarke says, and you look to find your daughter’s shoulders scrunched and her arms crossed, nose wrinkled.

“No,” she mumbles, “I don’t like it.” The sound of her L’s is open and a little slurred and Clarke reaches out, squatting down in front of her.

“This will help.” Clarke runs her fingers through tousled bangs. “We don’t want a repeat of the park.”

“No,” Lily says and Clarke sighs. “Stings.”

“Not if you close your eyes.” Your wife gently coaxes Lily’s shoulders to relax, rubs her thumb over a plump cheek. She gestures in your direction. “Here, momma will help. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you, would she?”

Lily shakes her head and you melt, holding out your free hand which she takes, gently patting Madi on the back with the other, shifting her to make room in your space. Lily steps close and you give her a small peck on the cheek.

“Deep breath,” you say, taking one yourself, and she copies. “Eyes closed.”

You cover her face like you did with Madi, over her eyes and mouth and Clarke takes the opportunity presented. It’s over and done with in seconds and when the sun meets her eyes again, Lily blinks.

“Good?”

Lily takes a moment, bringing her arm up to her face and scrutinizing. She sniffs once and then lets it fall, scowling at the smell. She picks up her right foot and then switches to her left. Finally she nods, satisfied. “Good.”

Madi’s grasp slackens and you give them both a push out towards the field, standing finally. You glance at Clarke, who smiles back at you, exhaling a breath that stirs the strands of her hair.

“That was easy,” you say.

Clarke shakes her head.

“Mommy!” Jack exclaims, barreling out from the grass, tripping on something and rolling. He finds his feet again, giggling as he clambers back up and stumbles into Clarke’s legs.

“Yes, Jack,” Clarke says with a smile that makes you weak, her hand on his back

He grins, all teeth. You can see the wilderness in his eyes, alight and indescribingly wolfish, and you hope that part of him never fades.

“We gotta go!”

“Go where?” Clarke asks as Jack takes her hand and pulls.

“That way!” and he points, far off towards the trees.

 

7:37pm

You eat snacks in the back of the car as the sun sets. Out beyond the treeline, the sky painted this warm orange hue as the light peaks over the top of the trees. It’s a sight to behold and you find yourself watching it amidst the commotion.

The far seats are folded down to make more room for all of you, the kids scattered about the blankets, ravenous as they chow through their sandwiches and chug little juice-boxes. Their eager to return, and with the moon an ever present reminder, you know it’s only a matter of time.

Their energy is relentless. Even Lily, who usually takes to the excitement with a certain amount of trepidation, seems to buzz out of her skin. Maybe it's the familiarity of the wilderness, the smells and the wind. But when the sandwiches are whittled to crusts and the juice boxes are sucked dry, they’re back out and eager to make the most of it.

 

12:00am

You return to the field when the moon is still high. The heat of the day has gentled, this midnight breeze that casts itself across the field, bringing with it a relief to the humidity of the day. The grass has already collected dew and it wets your paws, sticks to the coats of the little ones as they bumble tiredly onward, Clarke urging them with gentle nudges of her nose.

It’s no secret they’re exhausted. They amble, these small bounds made to cover distance until they tire and slow once again to a sluggish trot. It’s easy to keep pace with them, and sometimes you stop walking altogether, watching the group of them alongside Clarke as they make their way through the grass. They gravitate towards her, walking close and comforted by the presence and she’s careful not to knock into them by accident.

Some of their energy returns when they spot the car and the open hatch, loping forward. Jack tries to make the jump, but fails spectacularly, landing on his side in the dirt with a huff after barely missing the edge. He picks himself up, shakes off what little pain there was and whines his impatience.

You go one by one, picking them up in your mouth by the scruff and depositing them into the back of the car. Clarke joins them first, hopping up into the tailgate. She circles once, twice, and then plops down among the pups with this deep sigh.

After one last quick check of the area, you follow. The car wobbles with the added weight, but none of your family seems to care. All the kids are too tired to shift and they remain smushed together in this ball of fur and tiny paws. Clarke’s tail thumps against the bed of the car when you finally settle behind her, your muzzle propped up on her side. She whines softly, lifting her head to lick the side of your face and your eyes droop, blinking as you watch the pups already halfway asleep.

Outside crickets chirp and just beyond the open hatch you see the light of fireflies flicker in and out among the darkness.

 

2:58am

You wake up somewhat disoriented and you shut your eyes and rub your nose into Clarke’s fur. Once you’re awake though it’s difficult to return. You pick yourself up at gingerly as you can, shaking, and little bits of grass and dirt dislodge and scatter. There’s a small bag of your things behind you that you pick up between your teeth and place carefully just by the edge before hopping down from the car.

The shifting is familiar, the feeling of muscles and bones pulled taut and then releasing. You stretch languidly, arms over your head and twisting your back, and you let out this satisfied groan when something cracks.

You unzip the bag as quietly as you can, pulling out a t-shirt that you slip on over your head, the dirt and grass cold under your bare feet. Clarke wakes not too long after, and you see her head pop up from the jumbled mass of tiny fur bodies.

“Clarke,” you greet her and she snorts quietly, shaking her head. She untangles herself, pushing the blankets over the pups as best she can with her nose before joining you outside.

You wait, sifting through the bag for another shirt, though the second you feel her lips against your jaw you forget about anything else. Her hand finds the plane of your stomach under your shirt, rests there.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” she says, reaching past your idle hands for a shirt of her own. Clarke pulls away for room, pulling the tee down over her head and then moves forward to search for some underwear. She hands you a pair when she does.

“Thanks.” And you slip them on.

“Anytime.”

You watch her run her hands through her hair, there in early dawn barefoot and still warm from sleep. You press yourself close to her back and breathe.

“Should we wake them up?” she asks.

You shake your head, your chin on her shoulder and your nose against her neck. “If we leave now we’ll miss traffic.”

“I can drive.”

“Only if you want to.”

She’s silent for a moment, patting your cheek. “Where are the keys?”

“Under the seat.”

“Original.”

You snort. “Who’s going to steal them, Clarke? A bear?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, pushing against you and you let her go (but not without a kiss to her cheek and you catch the smile she fails to stop). She walks around the car to the driver’s side as you close the hatchback without waking the kids. You join her up front, sliding into the passenger seat as she digs blindly under the driver’s side for the keys. She finds them eventually, inserting them into the ignition and starting up the car.

Those first few hours on the road are quiet besides the wind. Your right arm dangles out the window, reclined in your seat, and Clarke’s hand held tightly in your own.

 

 


	10. July

 

 

1.

You’re past the point of being fazed by most things. With five children there has been an abundance of bodily fluids, from all the baby spittle and messy diapers, to the height of flu season and it’s you and Clarke against the world.

A little bit of nudity on the other hand, it’s something you don’t even blink at. Maybe it’s a werewolf thing. You, and the kids in particular, deal with the summer weather with barely restrained contempt. The manicured lawns and presence of the neighbors, the click of the sprinklers, that insistent groan of the filter of the Smith’s pool just beyond your yard’s fence… if you had known the summers were hotter in suburbia you might have given it a second thought, but you’re past the point of no return and the down payment on the house is, unfortunately, non refundable.

So when you enter the house after taking out the recyclables you don’t think twice before scooping up your freshly washed though nearly naked daughter as she attempts to make a beeline through the back door towards the yard.

“Danny--! Jack, don’t -- Aden watch him, please. Don’t move,” comes Clarke’s voice followed by the quick succession of her footsteps down the stairs. “Danny, get back here right now.”

“No!” your daughter wriggles in your grasp, squirming, and you right her in your hold until she’s situated on your hip. She pushes against you, but her arms are still too short to make a difference and you can’t help the small smile at her plight.

You catch eyes with Clarke as she rounds the stairs, pushing back the hair from her face, and she rolls her eyes at the sight of Danny in your arms.

“No!” you’re daughter repeats, foregoing the pushing to try and pull herself over your shoulder instead, tugging at your shirt.

Clarke tosses the small shirt over her shoulder before reaching out for her, hands underneath Danny’s armpits and you’re surprised at the ease of transfer. Danny smushes herself againsts Clarke’s front, petulant, arms limp, and no doubt frowning, still damp hair clinging to her shoulders.

“We can’t go get ice cream if you don’t put on clothes,” Clarke says, pressing her mouth absently to Danny’s forehead. She catches your eyes over the dark brown curls and it’s your turn to stare accusingly at her.

“I don’ want clothes,” Danny pouts.

“You can stay here then,” Clarke offers. Danny is quick to shake her head, clutching at the front of Clarke’s loose shirt. Clarke tucks her face close, whispers, “Then you’re going to need some clothes, baby.”

She looks at you over Danny’s shoulder and you understand the wordless request. You reach for the tee draped over Clarke’s shoulder, moving it around in your hands until you find the hole for the head.

You reach out, tickling her side and she scrunches her neck, tucks herself to Clarke’s chest. “Arms up, you little rascal,” you say.

Clarke angles her away and Danny watches you cautiously, eyeing your traitorous fingers, but you kiss her cheek and coax her arms away from her body. You slip the tee over her head, help her with the sleeves, and step back to admire your work.

Clarke pulls her back in, blows a raspberry into the crook of her neck. “Now for some pants.”

 

7.

On saturday the heat comes out in full force. You and Clarke wake up on seperate sides of the bed, the sheets kicked all the way down and slipping off the edge. All you feel is the tip of her heel against your calf, your skin already sticky with a thin coat of sweat where your skin touches the fabric.

The kids are sluggish to rise and a tad irritable. You can tell they’d much rather be in puddle pile under the living room coffee table where it’s dark and cool and in the path of the air conditioner’s draft. Anything but stuffed into baseball pants and those large shirts and on their way to the park.

Most of them find the shade underneath the bleachers, in the cool patches of grass and dirt. Clarke sits above, sunglasses low on her nose, and her pale skin already tinted a slight red (you had to convince her to put on sunscreen, and she stared at you slightly jealous). Jack and Danny on the other hand, along with yourself, aren’t as lucky.

The promise of play and the stale early morning temperatures are the only respite, but they don’t last long. The sun rises fast and shadows shrink, the cicadas loud shrill drifting across the park. Part of the incentive to finish the shortened five inning game is the changing of teams, the water of the coolers once filled with ice. Popsicles and cups of cold water the kids get to pour over themselves, makes the breeze feel cooler than it is.

It’s the start to the last inning when it happens. A nice solid hit sends the ball skittering in between second and third, and newly refreshed and determined, Jack is the first to chase after it. You watch as he comes in from the outfield, eyes focused. He must not pay attention to his feet because the second he bends to cup the ball into his glove he pitches forward. You remember that day back in May, Clarke’s hand on your hip and Madi... but you hear this high pitched wail and you’re out on the field within seconds.

You don’t hear much else besides Jack’s cries as you ease him up. His right hand is scraped raw from the dirt and tiny pebbles of the infield, the glove already discarded and forgotten, and you hold them gingerly with your own. He pushes himself into you before you really have any chance to assess the damage however, face first into your chest, and his cries become muffled into your shirt.

You try to ignore the blooming red you see. “You’re okay, Jack, you’re okay.” 

“Is he alright?”

You turn, finding Luke just few paces behind you, his brow dipped in concern. Around you the field has gone quiet and you see Clarke on her feet in the stands.

“A little beat up,” you say, wrapping an arm protectively around him. The sun beats heavily on your back and you feel the sweat collect along your neck and the places where Jack hides himself, but you’re more than happy to burn. You pick him up and then reach down for his hat, giving it a good shake before placing it gently backwards on his head.

The game temporarily disbands, the teams returning to their respective sides of the diamond, toddlers teetering towards the shade and the promise of popsicles. Jack whimpers against your neck as you make your way to the bleachers and you check to make sure Danny follows behind. She is, and even though it’s just a quick glance you can see the worry on her face.

Clarke is close when you get back to the bleachers, meeting you at the bottom. You smile at her as she reaches out and rubs Jack’s back. “There’s a little blood,” you say, settling him gently on the lowest bench.

“We still have that first aid kit in the car?”

You nod, taking a seat in front of him in the dirt so you can check the cut on his palms and knees and you feel Clarke’s hand on your shoulder for a second before it disappears. You roll up the leg of his pants, peeling the fabric away as gently as possible. Jack struggles to control his breathing, wiping the back of his hand under his nose as he stutters, and you take a moment once the scrape is uncovered to brush your fingers through the little bits of hair that escape the cap.

“You okay, bud?”

He sniffs, exaggerated and long, lip trembling as he frowns, but the tears are mostly just streaks, his eyes red and wet. Danny crouches at your side, unsure how to help but willing to try.

“Give him some space, Danny,” you say, but she waddles incrementality closer.

When Clarke comes back with the first aid kit and a popsicle she hands to Jack, you give up entirely as Lily and Aden join your makeshift huddle. Madi squirms herself under your arm, her little head popping into your line of sight and you sigh as you situate her your lap and out of the way.

“Here,” Clarke says, handing you a little antibacterial ointment packet that you tear open carefully with your teeth and a clean wipe.

You gently work away the dirt with the wipe, keeping the packet held securely between your teeth until you need it, and Jack sniffles through it. You squeeze out a little onto your index finger once it is clean, shooing away Madi’s inquisitive fingers before she smears it all over your hands. You look up at Jack and the popsicle he’s already halfway through, the only remnants of his tears being the dried tracks over his cheeks.

You dab the ointment over the scrapes, and as if on cue Clarke holds out a couple colorful red bandaids, already halfway unwrapped. They stick to her fingers when you go to take them and you have to peel the last strip of protective paper from the sticky side before placing it carefully over the wound.

“Good as new,” you say once you're finished, sitting back with a soft smile. Jack grins, lips and teeth blue from the popsicle.

 

* * *

 

“What are you thinking about?” Clarke asks you later that day, the both of you hip to hip on the steps of the back porch. You watch as the kids dart across the yard through the stream of the sprinkler as it sputters, moving back and forth. It’s cooled down at least, and you reach across your lap for Clarke’s hand.

“The day we met them,” you say softly, playing absently with Clarke’s fingers. You brush the pad of your thumb over her knuckles and the ridges between her fingers -- the smooth band of her ring. Her skin is lighter compared to yours, a tad redder from the sun.

Clarke looks at you, the light of her hair collecting the lasts bits of sun, and you watch her out of the corner of your eye because you’re sure you’ll be blind if you don’t. You feel her stare though, the gentleness in it as her eyes soften and she averts her gaze to the kids, their squeals of laughter loud among the evening noise.

You shake your head and your fingers stop their fidgeting. You hold Clarke’s hand tightly and you feel her squeeze back.

They don’t remember much, but you do, and perhaps it’s for the best. Late august, the dead of night. You remember it being warm, a heat that refused to settle simply to spite the moon, but the inside of the hospital is cold. There was Lily, only one year old and tucked quietly against your front, arms limp and sleeping. Next to you was Aden, still in his pajamas, his hand clutched tightly within Clarke’s.

That small room in the quiet part of the hospital that Abby led you to. She didn’t say much to you besides the necessities, an ‘accident’ but you know that was far from the truth and for the sake of the kids. You had seen enough of the repercussions in your line of work to know the dangers your kind face.

But when you see them, this little boy and girl, the first thing you noticed were the tears, their red faces and lost expressions. The bruises and colorful band aids. Their eyes glowed in the shadow cast by the chair they huddled next to in the corner.

You remember Jack’s quiet hiccups as he tried to stifle the last of his crying and you weren't sure if he even realized why and that thought seemed to hurt the most.

Jack cried at the drop of a hat back then, Danny stalwart beside him. That first night after the long drive home to the woods was spent shifted in pile on the floor in the den with the windows open. Mostly it was your fumbling attempts at quieting insistent whimpers and needy whines, surrounded by these small warm bodies and Clarke.

They followed you around insistently those first few days. Part anxiety, but also because you made it easy. Enabled it even. You hated seeing them cry after all. You know perception is relative, but Clarke had been right about calling you the werewolf equivalent of a teddy-bear when it came to children, your own or otherwise. Perhaps that’s what made the transition so easy.

You had the adoption papers within a week.

“They grow up fast,” you say finally and Clarke looks up from your interlocked hands with an expression of amused disbelief.

“Is that what we’re calling it now.”

You quirk your lips at her, angling your head closer for a kiss, but Clarke leans imperceptibly away, smiling. You can feel her soft exhale over your mouth and when you lean back in she meets you halfway.

 

14.

“It’s your birthday?” the older woman behind the counter asks, smile wide and you shift Danny on your hip, watching your daughter’s face as she giggles. “How old are you?”

“Five!” Danny says, leaning forward and showing five fingers. You feel the tight grip of her fist at your back, the way your shirt shifts as she leans away.

“She wanted to pick out a treat for herself,” you say, a little bit lost in the wonder in Danny’s eyes as she pulls her hand back to grasp your shirt.

Behind the glass of the counter there’s an array of sweets ranging from different types of cakes and eclairs to chocolate dipped strawberries and Danny struggles to focus. You see her eye the cakes and the little finger foods, but with the amount of stimulation her attention shifts. She must find Clarke wandering through the bakery with her brothers and sisters because you have to tap her leg to get her to focus again.

The lady smiles sympathetically at you. “And what’s the little lady looking for? Cookies? Cupcakes?”

“...Cupcakes,” Danny answers with a nod after a few long moments of deliberation, but she makes sure to specify, “with lots of frosting.”

You lightly squeeze her foot. “What do we say?”

“Pease.”

“Chocolate or vanilla?” the lady asks, reaching for a small single container. “Or maybe peanut butter or red velvet?”

“Vanilla, pease.”

“Coming right up.”

Danny watches with rapt attention as the tray behind the glass is pulled back and one singular vanilla cupcake is removed and packaged. “Here you go.” the lady places the container on the countertop, slides it forward. “One vanilla cupcake for the birthday girl.”

Danny glances at you and you nod. She reaches out for the container with both hands and pulls it forward with a quiet, “thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” the lady says with a smile before looking at you. You offer a smile in return. “You have a beautiful daughter, ma’am.”

You turn to watch Danny admire the cupcake she holds in her hands. “I do.”

“It must run in the family.” It’s an unabashed compliment from an older lady and it makes you grin, but there’s this disconcerting feeling that settles into the pit of your stomach at the compliment. You give another thank you and then move away from the counter to find Clarke and the rest of the kids among the other customers.

You don’t know much about Danny’s biological parents. Nor Jack’s for that matter. According to Abby, they were born into sister packs situated near a wildlife reserve in alberta, canada. It fell far past the reach of your family’s influence, but you had known them through those brief instances during your youth to be a docile and peaceful collective.

Those were always the easiest targets for hunters, and a part of you can’t help but wonder if there’s something there to miss. Luckily you’re not allowed to dwell on that thought for long.

“Hey,” Clarke says, her hand finding the small of your back and you turn towards her. “Did you pay already?”

You give a small shake of your head. “No.”

“Good, ‘cause the troublemakers and I found some cookies.”

You lean over, kissing the side of her head briefly, against her hair. You stay close for an extra moment though, breathing in the familiarity of her scent and you feel it settle comfortably there in your chest.

Clarke nudges you and Danny out of the way when you get to the register, placing a package of M&M cookies and a loaf of whole wheat bread onto the counter. “Guys,” she says to the group, gesturing them closer and out of the way of the couple trying to reach the next register, “Let people through.”

You adjust Danny higher on your hip as Clarke fishes out her card. “Clarke--”

“Shush.” She hands it over to the cashier before glancing at you. “You bought breakfast so it's only fair.”

“We’re married, Clarke, we share expenses,” you say softly to her, and she rises to her toes and quickly pecks your cheek.

“Details.”

 

18.

“Did you mail in Danny and Jack’s registration?”

“Yes.”

“And Aden’s enrollment?”

“Yes,” you say, not bothering to look up from the counter and the sautee chicken you’re packing up for lunch tomorrow. “Weeks ago.”

“Oh.”

You glance over your shoulder, finding Clarke behind you in the middle of the kitchen. She has one hand on the back of Madi’s high chair, leaning her weight against it and there’s something in her eyes that makes her look lost.

Your shoulders droop, your hands lowering to rest on the countertop, and you wait a moment before asking softly, “What are you worried about?”

Her hand falls, hangs limp, and she shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

You place the knife and fork down, wiping your hands with the dish towel and then tossing it aside. You step into her space and she welcomes you with a soft kiss to your lips. Your hands find her hips and you pull her forward until you feel the softness of her stomach against yours.

“They’re terrible decision makers,” she says, and you chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her cheek.

“In their defense, they’re four,” but you stop, think, and correct, “five.” Clarke laughs. “I’m not sure what you expect.”

“That’s the problem.” Clarke sighs, slouches forward and rests her weight against you. “They’re allowed to make mistakes, they’re pups. But--”

She presses her face against your shoulder, her grip on your waist tightening briefly. You feel the tension in her hands, in the slope of her body against your own, and wait.

“What about humans, Lexa?”

“What can we do?” you say honestly. The light of the kitchen bleeds out into the hallway, the living room dark, and the house is quiet with the little ones tucked into bed upstairs. “You said yourself that they know what is and isn't appropriate.”

Clarke exhales into your shirt. Your skin is warm and sticky where it touches hers. Your arms and the palm of your hand on her lower back, but the breeze that wafts in from the window above the kitchen sink is finally cool now.

“Besides.” You nudge the side of her head with the tip of your nose. “How much trouble can those two get into anyway.”

“A lot,” Clarke answers almost immediately, studying you with this questioning crease to her brow. You see her visibly soften as she watches you, her hands hanging from your shirt. Close. She kisses you a moment later and lingers, her forehead against yours. “They’re our kids, after all.”

 

21.

You know the moment you say yes that this isn’t one of your better decisions in recent months, debilitating injury aside, but puppy dog eyes are your one weakness and Clarke’s back at the car clearing space for the equipment and as a result unable to deter you.

“It’s up to their parents but as long as they say it's okay,” you say, trying to salvage whatever you can of the situation, but Jack beams, a smile so wide you think his face might be stuck like that, before darting off a little ways towards the other kids and their parents.

“What did you do?” Clarke says behind you and you turn to face her.

You’re anything but sheepish, but the way Clarke stares at you makes you feel a tad remorseful. “Do we still have those hotdogs and hamburgers in the freezer?”

“From what I remember…” Clarke squints at you, glancing down at Jack’s cap in your hands and then back up. “Lexa.”

“He told the other kids his birthday was tomorrow,” you respond, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see Luke wave at you, Charlie not too far away. Kathy and John Syverson and their son Aiden, Katie and her mother Joan. Emily and Jordan and Sam--

“Do you need us to bring anything?” Sydney’s mother Faith calls out to you.

Clarke steps close to you, wraps her arm around your waist and calls back, “Drinks.”

 

* * *

 

“You have a beautiful house,” Anna says to you out on the back porch, after the majority of the parents and kids have arrived and situated themselves in your backyard.

“Thank you.”

“What is it again you said you do for work?”

“I am a detective down at the south county police station. Though I tend to go wherever they need me.”

“And Clarke, she’s…?”

“A freelance designer,” you say, searching subconsciously for Clarke and finding her in a conversation with Luke over by the grill. Smoke pours out from under the hood, but she’s laughing and you can’t not smile. “She’s been thinking about furthering a degree in architecture.”

“Really?”

You nod, not looking away. “I think she’d be great at it.”

“Coach Lexa, coach Lexa!”

The chorus of voices draws your attention away from your conversation and to the group of toddlers currently standing in front of you. There’s four of them, some still in their baseball jerseys, some not, cheeks red from play. “Can we--” Sam swallows, “can we play on the swingset?”

You nod. “As long as you’re careful and someone is watching.”

They squeal, running off towards the swingset without bothering to check who follows.

“I got this,” Anna says, making a show of rolling her eyes, but she seems happy to accommodate, following after her son and his teammates. Before she gets too far away she turns and says to you, “Thanks by the way. This is nice.”

It goes better than you expected, this little impromptu cookout in your backyard. It’s not a lot and not everyone makes it. Most of the parents have found a spot on the back porch, in chairs and the outdoor patio set that Anya helped you assemble when you moved in all those months ago. They converse and drink while the kids play in the backyard with beach balls and some of the tee ball equipment, Lily and Charlie out a ways among the flowers.

You find you enjoy the company.

 

22.

The clouds are heavy and swollen with rain that refuses to fall. A week long stretch of heat and by sunday afternoon it's dark and stretching, the humidity stifling, and it’s like waiting for the dam to break. The first few drops that hit the window are short, sweet, and then all at once it snaps.

It downpours. So loud you can hear it on the roof downstairs, pelting the the windows, and the noise stirs you from your nap on the couch. The first thing you see is Clarke and Aden at the other end, your legs draped over her lap and a book balanced on your shins, but she stares out into space and you can tell she’s simply listening.

You hear the rush of feet next, Jack rushing to the window, trying to see through the pelting rain. Soon, the others pull themselves from under the coffee table. Lily's hair sticks up, clothing wrinkled, and Madi has the imprint of the rug pressed into the side of her face and you smile as she bumbles over to the couch and to your side. You help her up onto your stomach and she presses her nose into your loose tank.

“Mommy, mommy, it’s raining. Look it’s raining!”

“I’m looking,” Clarke says, pulled from her little daze. She catches your eyes, smiles, and then looks away.

Jack turns from the window, hurrying back to the couch, and tries pull himself up into Clarke’s lap. “Mommy, can we? Can we, can we, can we?”

“Can we what, Jack.”

“Go outside!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Clarke feigns, tapping her chin. “Maybe if it was someone’s birthday…”

Jack bounces. “It’s my birthday!”

Clarke eyes are warm as she observes her son. You begin to pick yourself up, moving your legs from Clarke’s lap and placing your feet on the floor. You’re careful to keep Madi cradled close.

“Then sure,” Clarke says, “I guess we can go outside.”

Jack scrambles for the back door ahead of everyone else and Clarke chuckles.

“Jack,” you call after him, pulling yourself to your feet and setting Madi down on the floor. You follow him into the hallway and he’s already by the door. “You are not ruining your new shirt, we have enough rags as it is.”

He looks at you over his shoulder confused.

“Off,” you say, moving close. You gesture at him and he turns, lifts his arms, and you slip the shirt off. He shakes himself, happy to be rid of it, and you see the little bit of fur that gathers on his spine when he turns around again, the pointed shape his ears take. You know it’s only a matter of moments before he sprouts a tail.

“I know you’re excited, Jack, but you have to wait for us.”

Clarke joins you a moment later, the other four in similar states of undress, their clothes folded over her arm. They all scramble for the door, and there’s a bit of pushing and shoving you’re quick to scold with a sharp yet gentle tap to their heads. They’re all watching you when everything settles.

“Straight for the woods,” you tell them and out of the corner of your eye you see Clarke drape their clothing over railing of the stairs before making her way over to you. “Yes?” you prompt as Clarke rests her chin on your shoulder. They nod vigorously. “Alright then.”

You open the door and they bolt. Down the steps. Through the thick sheets of rain.

You reach for the edge of your shirt, but your fingers stop the second you feel Clarke’s lips along your jaw, her voice in your ear.

“The last one to catch up cooks dinner,” she mutters, and before you know it she’s striped herself of her shirt and thrown it at your face. You sputter, pulling it off, and when you look out the door you see the white of her, silver in the rain.

 

 


	11. August

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hemmed and hawed over this chapter so its quite late. hopefully the next wont be as long of a wait. as usual, mistakes abound but i'll fix them as i see them. enjoy

 

_August 26, 2015_

It’s dark when Clarke gently shakes you awake. You shift in that small bed, sheets twisted about your legs as you attempt to blink the sleep from the corners of your eyes. The lack of presence beside you is immediately noticeable, but through the haze you see Clarke next to by the side of the bed.

Her hair is a mess, haphazardly pulled from her face in a bun situated on top of her head. Strands escape, curl around her cheeks and near her chin, but the circles under her eyes are hard to miss. You probably look much the same.

“Lily?” you ask, voice rough. Her cold has refused to cooperate and with the unnaturally strong heat this far up in the Maine wilderness it’s been even tougher. The past week you had hoped it was on its way out, but--

Clarke shakes her head, her voice soft. “No.”

Your brace yourself on your forearms, pushing yourself up. You move the sheets aside, pulling your legs over the edge of the bed and positioning Clarke between your legs. Clarke doesn’t move as you reach out to cup her cheeks in your hands, tender and gentle, and you dip to press your lips softly to the crown of her head.

“Are you okay?” quiet, for her. Your forehead bumps hers affectionately and you linger. “Is it the pup?”

“No, Lexa, I’m... I’m fine. It’s…” And she inhales, lets it out. You feel it across your skin and you lean in to kiss the corner of her mouth. “It’s my mom.”

“Is Abby alright?”

“She’s fine.” Clarke says, and there’s a slight smile that puts your heart at ease when you pull away, but her eyes don’t meet yours.

“What’s the matter, Clarke?”

You hear her exhale. “She needs our help.”

 

* * *

 

It’s well past midnight by the time you have Lily and Aden bundled up in the backseat of the car for the drive to the hospital. They sleep through most of it, but Clarke doesn’t. She stares out the passenger window while you drive, this little bit of tension held between her eyes that you want to kiss away, but you simply hold her hand tighter in your lap.

An ambulance lingers near the front entrance when you pull into the small parking lot closest to the main entrance. It’s shifted into park in the emergency lane with the lights flickering but otherwise the area is quiet. You can see people through the glass doors as they walk past, the  fluorescent lights bright as it bleeds out onto the sidewalk.

You unbuckle Lily from her booster seat, tucking her close to your chest and she burrows into to your neck despite the heat. Her bare feet dangle, her breath warm over your skin and when you round the car to check on Clarke, you find her helping Aden down from the backseat. He reaches for her once his feet are on the ground, arms outstretched and a small half-hearted pout.

“Up?” Clarke says, and Aden nods. Clarke situates him on her hip and he rubs his left eye with a closed fist, the other hand curled into Clarke’s wrinkled t-shirt.

When you enter, a lady in a flower print shirt smiles at you from behind the check-in desk. She must remember you, or maybe the kids. “Abby expecting you?”

Aden wriggles and Clarke places him down. You look back at the receptionist. “She is.”

“I’ll page her down. Feel free to take a seat, it shouldn’t be long.” She gestures to the chairs behind you and you look back at them. A few are occupied. There’s a woman on her phone and a man with his fingers splinted together and Clarke moves close beside you, shoulders to elbows flush against one another. Compared to the heat outside, it's cold in here with the air conditioning and you feel the goosebumps along her arm. She presses a kiss to your shoulder and your lips find the center of her forehead.

Aden perks up at the sight of Abby when she enters through the doubles doors to your right a few minutes later, still in her white coat and scrubs, and at the sound of her brother’s excitement, Lily lifts her head from the crook of your neck.

“Hello there,” Abby coos as Aden rushes forward and happily wraps himself around her legs. She rubs his back affectionately and Abby reaches out to pull her daughter closer for a hug,  trapping him in between. You can hear Aden’s giggles from here.

It’s a few seconds until someone lets go and you step close with Lily. Abby kisses both of you on the cheek in greeting before pulling away. “Follow me, please.”

She leads you to the elevators, waiting until the lot of you file into the space before entering last, and after pressing the appropriate floor button she steps back and waits for the doors to close. “I’m really glad you could make it.”

“Are they okay?” Clarke asks. The doors slide shut and the elevator begins its ascent to the third floor.

“They’re a little banged up,” Abby says, absently straightening her coat. She inhales this deep breath and centers herself. “More tired than anything. With luck they’ll forget, but their family--” and at that she pauses, staring at the closed doors, struggling to find the words in the presence of Aden and Lily. She doesn’t seem to find them. “Let’s just say that they’re a long way from home.”

“Where…?”

“Canada.” Abby gives you a small smile. “We’re lucky they fell into the right hands.”

A soft ding sounds and elevator doors slide open. Abby leads the four of you down the hallway, doors numbered by a letter and a number, names scribbled on a small whiteboard beneath.

“What are their names?” you ask, voice soft as you adjust Lily as she begins to slip.

“Danny and Jack.” Abby responds, glancing over her shoulder. She looks front and the sound of your shoes echoes in the hall. It’s like she’s reading it from a file. “Danny Grace and Jack Kennington. Two years old. Grew up together. Their parents were close friends.”

Sure enough, near the end of the hall, Abby halts at the door labeled C3, Danny and Jack written out in red dry-erase marker that hangs, attached by a string. For a moment she is still.

“Two entire packs laid to waste.” Abby breathes quietly into the empty space in front of her and you watch her hands curl into fists by her side.

“Mom.” Clarke starts, touching her mother’s elbow. “You did what you could.”

Abby shakes her head. “It never seems like enough.”

“I know.”

Gathering her bearings, Abby takes a deep breath and curls the errant strands of her hair back behind her ears. “I know I don’t need to tell you to be gentle, but they’ve been through more than enough.”

Clarke nods. “We will.”

It takes a moment for you to spot them huddled by the chair in the corner of the room.  Curled into each other, you see the glint of their eyes, that flash of yellow, and then, the colorful cartoon printed band-aids, the bruises. They look clean despite the batteredness. Tussled, as if someone managed to squeeze them into mismatched articles of unwanted (though hopefully clean) clothing left in the lost and found with varying amounts of success.

Tufts of fur signify a shift not fully settled, the hint of tiny claws and a cautiousness that is more than well placed -- their eyes. The little girl’s knuckles are white, bunched and clutched at her companion’s shirt, and the boy tries to hide his hiccups into his sleeve rather unsuccessfully. You manage to stop the empathetic noise before it manages to escape from the back of your throat.

They shrink further into the corner when you try to get closer and you stop immediately a few feet away. The little boy’s whimpers seem louder now that you’re closer and even with the shadow cast by the chair you notice the still damp tear tracks over flushed cheeks and you shift Lily on your hip so you can squat down, resting her on your thigh and her bare feet brush the tile floor.

“Hello,” you say, your voice this soft lilt, and both pairs of eyes find you. Lily watches your face, gaze flickering back and forth between you and the two by the chair.

“Puppies,” Lily says, gurgled and a little nasally, remnants of her cold. She rubs the back of her hand under her nose before grasping your shirt and you glance at the pure curiosity on her face. Her hold tightens as she points to the two little ones in the corner by the chair and then looks back at you expectantly for confirmation.

“Yes, Lily, pups.” You poke her belly. “Like you.”

The statement seems to ignite something in her and she squirms until you reluctantly let her go. There’s an instance of fear that settles in the pit of your gut as she hobbles over clumsily towards the pair, but when she gets close, she crouches down and whispers, “Hello.”

What follows is a gurgle of words and made up vocabulary. You hear Lily say her own name, repeatedly, and maybe it's for emphasis, pointing to herself like Clarke does when she has her in her high chair back at home, sharing applesauce and giggles with a spoon.

It’s not long before Aden pulls at Clarke’s hand and she lets him go. He scampers over to Lily’s side, pressing close and eager to be a part of the conversation.

You stand as Clarke steps up beside you, free of her tether, and you glance over at her and her eyes are soft and her shoulders have lost their tension. You know she’s already in love and honestly, so are you.

“Would you mind looking after them?” Abby says, and both you and Clarke turn in unison. “I’m working on finding them a permanent home, but they could use a little bit of love right now.”

You find Clarke’s attention elsewhere, focused on the little pack of children now huddled by the chair. “Do you even have to ask,” Clarke says, not looking away.

Abby’s smile is soft and wistful as she watches her daughter, and you don’t know what it is that tips her off. A mother’s intuition maybe, or perhaps it's the way Clarke lingers on the pups--your hand closer to her stomach than her hip--but you’d blame it on the heightened sense of smell. It’s just a second, and then you see Abby’s jaw fall slack.

“Clarke are you pregnant?” It's soft, full of awe and wonder and you watch as Clarke takes a minute to let the question sink in.

(Sometimes it feels like fluke. A dream too good to be true--that you’ve managed to find yourself a family like this. To have helped make it and to want to see it grow. And here you are, in the middle of it, and when you look at where you’ve come from nothing has ever made more sense)

Clarke lifts her shoulders, lets them fall. She breathes in slowly, runs her fingers just under her eyes, and you lean over and kiss her cheek. A second later you give her space though, so Abby can pull her daughter fast against her, and you stand back and watch the embrace, Clarke’s face tucked into the crook of her mother’s neck.

“We’re not going to have enough room,” Clarke jokes with this happy, watery laugh--one that Abby shares. She lets go after a moment, but not before pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead.

“You need anything at all, you give me a call,” Abby says, letting go fully.

Clarke laughs. “You sound like Lexa,” she says and you take that as an invitation to press close again, your nose against her temple, breathing in the scent of her. “But this isn’t my first rodeo.” Clarke brings up a hand to cup your cheek, absently brushing her thumb over your skin, and you kiss the inside of her wrist before her hand falls back down to her side. You don’t want to move.

“I’ll sit in the back with them,” you say, muffled into Clarke’s neck. You pull away after a moment, finding Clarke’s eyes, and she leans in to press her lips to yours.

“You just don’t want to sit in the front.”

“Who does?” you tease softly. “Especially when the alternative is crushed under four pups in the back seat.” It earns you a small chuckle and another kiss, but when the seconds tick by and Clarke doesn’t move away you whisper, “Are you sure?”

“As if you already haven’t made up your mind.”

“We’re a team first,” you say to her.

For a moment Clarke just breathes, takes a moment there in your space to gather her thoughts in peace. How easy distraction is as she glances over your shoulder at the little ones and their conversation makes it to you only in bits and pieces. Mostly Aden and Lily’s voices, and when you turn you  understand her captivation.

She looks up at you. “I can bring the car around back?” she says and you hold her stare, smiling faintly, but the longer you watch her the further it spreads. You know that look in her eye, and after a split second decision Clarke turns to her mother. “Is the loading dock busy this time of night?”

“Not particularly,” Abby answers. “Most of our shipments come in during the day.”

“Is it alright if we use it?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Clarke turns to you. “I’ll meet you there?”

You nod a confirmation and she kisses you briefly on the lips. She’s out the door seconds later.

“Thank you,” Abby says after a beat of silence. “If I had known about Clarke…”

You shake your head. “What?” you respond softly, mindful of the potential listeners. “You would have sent them back to Canada? You know we’re more than happy to look after them.”

“Four is a big commitment, even for the two of you. And with one on the way--”

“Clarke is more than capable of setting her limits. If she says she’s comfortable then I trust her to tell me if she isn’t,” you say and Abby falls quiet, looking away to watch the pups. “I will be there for her every step of the way, and I know so will you.”

You let out a breath, the sudden stiffness of your muscles lessening and you follow Abby’s line of sight towards the kids. For a moment you’re not sure how to approach them. You see Lily curled up against Aden, practically asleep, her little fingers curled into her brother’s sleeve while Aden, unbeknownst of his dwindling audience, continues his story about the rabbit that got away. The other two watch you with tired eyes, tiny heads bobbing as exhaustion threatens to take them. They don’t flinch this time though, most likely accustomed to your scent through Aden and Lily, and when you crouch down in front of them you see the hope in their eyes.

Lily rouses at your proximity, reaching out with insistent hands until you pull her close to your chest. She wraps her arms around your neck, squirms a bit to get comfortable, and sighs. The two watch the situation unfold.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” you say. You know the moment the words leave your mouth that you mean it. More than anything. “I promise.”

They don’t move, and you hear this quiet whine, from one or both you can’t tell but it makes your heart ache. But their are eyes open, hopeful, and you whisper, “How ever you’re comfortable.”

You wait a moment and then look over your shoulder, catching Abby’s attention. You gesture to Lily. “Abby could you?”

“Of course.” She comes close and takes Lily from you. Aden looks back at the both of you, and Abby gestures him over. “Come on.”

You watch as he goes, and once he’s close enough he grasps Abby’s hand with his own. “What’s the quickest way to the loading docks?”

“I can show you,” she says, the hand Aden holds swinging between them. “It’s been dead in here since ten o’clock.” Abby smiles. “In the good way.”

You nod with a smile of your own, and you focus on that warm feeling and let the wilderness take you. It’s quick and once your form settles you shake yourself of your clothes, tugging at your shirt until you manage to slip free of it. There must be some comfort in the form, for when Danny and Jack see you, the shift is close behind

They’re less skilled in coordination, but it’s to be expected. They trip and stumble, clothes half falling off but they could care less, and when they make it to you on their own accord, you help them with the rest. Holding gently to the loose hems with your teeth so they can wiggle free. You hear their soft whines, heads low but tails wagging between their legs as they inch as close to you as they think they’re allowed.

You nudge each of them gently with your nose, a greeting. They smell of the hospital and its disinfectant, the cleanliness a bit overpowering, but thankfully you know it's superficial and only temporary. There’s the scent of the earth in them, underneath the dark brown and reds of their fur. Worldly and rich, even for ones so small. That indescribable puppy smell, as Clarke and yourself have have likened to call it over the years.

You gather the clothes in your mouth before following Abby out the door, looking both ways in the hallway out of habit and Abby’s laughter echoes. You check to make sure you’re being followed and you find the pups closer than expected, sticking to you like glue.

Thanks to Abby, you steer clear of the busier sections of the hospital, using staff only elevators and the routes Abby knows like the back of her hand. You run into one person, a man dressed in scrubs who you recognize and Abby nods to, hands full with your children. He chuckles, stepping aside to make room and watch you pass.

“Heda,” he says with this small bow of his head and you stop and acknowledge the sentiment before continuing on.

It’s a good five minutes before you make it to the loading docks on the first floor. Clarke is waiting out on the platform for you with the back hatch of the car already open, the back seats folded down. When she spots you she rolls her eyes.

You meet her by the car, pressing your head into her stomach. She cards her fingers through your fur, behind your ears, and ruffles until you let out this content rumble. She takes the clothes from your mouth, tossing them into the back with the blankets and then nudges you away to take Lily From Abby, Aden pressing close to her leg.

Her sight lands on Danny and Jack just behind your heels and they come up to her slowly when she crouches down, moving from behind your heels to lick at her outstretched hand, nudging into her palm. They whine pitifully when she moves away to buckle Lily into her booster seat but she doesn’t even manage to turn around before the complaints amplify, Lily mumbling insistently as she reaches out behind Clarke towards you.

Clarke groans, shoots you a look, and you tilt your head. “Don’t,” she scolds. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

You let out this low bark and Clarke sighs, setting Lily down on her feet. Her body is full of wiggles and muttered laughter as she pads those few feet to where you are and you can tell she wants to shift, but at the moment lacks the concentration to fully commit. Her ears are pointed, skin a little furrier, and when she presses her face against you you hear her answering woof deep in her chest.

Clarke shakes her head when you catch eyes with her, instead moving to give her mother a hug goodbye.

“You need anything,” Abby starts, Aden looking up at the both of them, Clarke’s hand on his head.

“I know.” Clarke presses close, just for a moment, before stepping away. “Thank you.”

“I need to get back to work, call me tomorrow with an update please.”

Clarke nods. Abby kisses her forehead and then steps away, offering a wave to you before disappearing through the doors back into the hospital.

“Do you want to sit in the back with momma too?” Clarke asks and Aden’s affirmation is immediate. “Alright. Go on.”

You herd them all into the back of the car, careful of limbs and tails. A couple of blankets and a few travel bags you keep in case of emergencies are spread out, plenty of room even for the five of you. They all find a spot around you, Lily spooned against your front, Aden with his head right next to yours, and finally Danny and Jack tentatively pressed up along your back. You try to ignore the fact that you feel them shaking.

“Everything good back there?”

Your answering woof is muffled, but Clarke seems to get the idea. You hear the jingle of the keys as she inserts them, then the rumble as the engine starts, and you let out a sigh.

The ride is long though far from unpleasant. Clarke rolls the windows down and the cool, night air swirls through the cabin of the car. You like the peace it brings despite the thoughts that sit in the back of your mind, not quite able to sleep. You breathe deeply, eyes closed and focused on the smells as the woods change and the air goes clearer. There’s little you can see from your spot laid out on the bed of the car, the tall stretch of trees and the night sky, and when the tires crunch onto the soft gravel road about an hour or so later, the car veering as Clarke takes a right, you know.

Ten minutes pass and the car finally pulls to a stop and you pick your head up to watch Clarke as she takes out the keys and hauls herself from the driver’s seat. Her footsteps are soft in the dirt of the driveway and when she opens the back hatch, the fond smile that steals it's way to her lips at the sight of you curled up with the pups makes your tail thump giddily against the blankets. It hasn’t even been long at all but you still miss her terribly.

“I’m not coming in there,” she says, resolute even in spite of the amusement tilting her lips, and you let out this barely audible whine. The pups don’t stir. “Lexa, no. I’m tired and I’m not sleeping in the back of the car no matter how soft you are.”

You exhale loudly through your nose, shaking your head. Standing, you stretch out the aches from your limbs, careful of the pups spread out around you, and looking at them now you realize both Lily and Aden must have shifted sometime during sleep. Aden yawns wide and it ends in a squeak, little puppy canines glinting in the dull light. He seems to notice you’re missing a second too late after you’ve already hopped down from the car, watching your form until his sleep addled mind understands and he quickly attempts to follow despite uncooperative legs and clothing.

Clarke picks him up before he falls, peeling him out of his now unfitted pajamas and setting him down by your paws. “Keep an eye on him, Lexa.” And you do, though he seems content to plop down beside you, hind legs sprawled in front of him and a tad drowsy.

Clarke reaches in for Lily next and repeats the process. Your daughter barely even registers the movement and Clarke hands her off to you and you gently take her scruff between your teeth. She dangles limply, doesn’t stir, and you figure it's the small miracles in life.

“I’ll meet you inside,” Clarke tells you in this hushed voice, running her hand over your head, and you watch her a moment before nudging the side of Aden’s head with your nose, and he teeters to the left before catching himself. He scampers off towards the front steps then, and you take one last glance at Clarke and the open hatch before following your son inside.

The house is dark, but it smells like home. The front door opens up into the kitchen and the mismatched chairs that surround the kitchen table, the legs gouged with tiny teeth marks. A vase of half wilted flowers picked from the garden sits in the middle and old mugs of coffee you and Clarke brewed before leaving sit collecting condensation. There’s the scent of dinner, almost faded, and the old wood floors creak as you pass over them, the walls and windows drafty, and there’s bits of dirt and dust you and Clarke can’t seem to keep clean.

Out in the woods though, you can hear the trees, the peepers loud but not unpleasant, and at the sound of the door you glance around. You see two small pups clamber up the front steps inside, tripping over the lip of the door, and behind them Clarke picks up the rear, shifted, the white of her fur an iridescent glow in the night.

She prods them gently onward and their first hesitant steps into the kitchen are taken with considerable care, ears folded back along their scalp and cautious. You watch the twitch of their noses, pressed to the floor, and the movement of their eyes as they take in their unfamiliar surroundings. They look smaller among your things, never too far from Clarke, and quick to check for reassurance. They whine when she looks away, sticking close to Clarke’s heels as she wanders over to you.

Clarke licks at Lily’s face, who wags her tail and yips, nipping at Clarke’s jaw, and you place her down.

There’s a wordless exchange between the two of you. Held between the eyes, hers blue and warm, and you nudge her with the tip of your nose before leaving her with the pups. You head up the stairs near the back door, and then down the short hall to your room, fitting your snout between the open crack of the door and pushing it open.

You head towards your bed, take the sheets between your teeth and tug. It takes a bit of wrestling, a few firm shakes of your head until the sheets slip from the mattress. A few of the pillows tumble off and a couple others you tug with the blankets down the hall. The excess trails behind you, and you’re careful on the stairs so as not to trip and make a fool of yourself. It gets stuck however, and at the bottom you have to readjust, finding a better grip with your teeth and tugging forcefully. The blankets eventually slip free.

Jogging the rest of the way, you drag the blankets into the middle of the den and in front of the couch, ignoring to the best of your abilities Aden as he latches onto a corner and plants his feet. You pull him across the floor, these little growls rumbling in his chest, but he stops when he realizes you’re not interested in playing, and instead trails close behind.

You make a makeshift bed out of the blankets and the pillows stolen from the couch, pawing at them until you have this nice comfy clump of fabric you can sink into. Much of the space you leave for Clarke and the pups, lying down on the edge and sighing, watching them, waiting. Lily wastes no time, bounds over and collapses half on top of you, snuggled as close as possible. Aden is next, followed shortly by Clarke, and they find their space around you.

Danny and Jack are last, stuck a few feet away as if they think they’re not allowed, but you don’t let them linger. You haul yourself up again and take them one by one, picking them up and depositing them into the middle of the pile. It’s only when they’re settled, noses pressed into the blankets, that you relax, curled up behind them.

For a few moments it’s blissful peace, the wind and the familiar draft and the comforting way the woods seem to talk. The rustle of the leaves, the far off sound of the nighttime birds and the bugs... And then an odd sensation you’re being watched. You wait to see if it passes, but it doesn’t, and when you open your eyes you’re not that surprised to find Danny closer than expected.

She blinks, but doesn’t move away, exhaling this short puff of breath that sounds like a squeak and worms her way forward on her stomach. You lift your head up from your paws, and your instinct tells you to clean away the stench of the hospital, so you do. It’s small licks to the side of Danny’s face, and her eyes droop as she inches forward, enough to curl up between your front legs near your chest.  You do the same with Jack, just off to the left side of you, taking comfort in the fact that his trembling subsides. He picks himself up not seconds later after you stop, curls right next to your side.

You take a moment to watch them. In the dark the others snore, Aden kicking in his sleep and Lily nearly invisible against the white of Clarke’s fur. Clarke watches you from across the folds of the blanket, exhausted, but there’s this unmistakable smile in her eyes and it makes you feel at ease.

 

 

_August 26, 2018_

“Do you have your crayons?”

Danny doesn’t look at you, distracted by the tiny backpack she attempts to sling over her equally tiny shoulders. She misses a few times, fruitlessly waves her arm behind her in search of the pesky strap, and you wait a moment before helping her with it, adjusting the give so it doesn’t hang too loosely.

(Out of the corner of your eye you see Lily and Madi peeking from around the corner of the living room--the glint of their blonde hair in the early morning light)

“Snacks?”

Danny nods, head bobbing. She pushes her hair back when it falls in her face, clumsy hands and tiny fingers, and looks up at you there in the hallway. She doesn’t say anything, merely watches you with her big brown eyes and you know now how hard it's going to be to let them go.

You bump your nose against hers, your eyes closing briefly at her giggles and then press a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

“‘ove you too, momma.”

“You and Jack need to look out for one another okay?”

“Mm,” she says, almost solemnly with a singular nod. You pull distractedly at the straps of her backpack, but they’re snug and comfortable and you realize you’re stalling.

“Are you excited?” you ask and your heart melts at the look on her face.

“Mm!”

“Are you going to see Chloe?”

Danny bounces. “Gonna see her lots!”

You cup her cheeks, plump and round in your palms, and kiss the tip of her nose. You want to bury the resulting giggles deep into your chest for later, for the years down the line that feel far away now but are closer than they appear.

Something solid collides against your back and you twist, catching sight out of the corner of your eye of Jack’s head. You scoop him up from behind, nip playfully at his neck until his cheeks go red from laughter and then place him back down in front of you beside Danny.

Next to each other, you see the differences. Danny’s dark hair and her rounder face, the freckles along Jack’s cheeks and his hazel eyes. How he stands just a tad shorter than his adoptive sister, but you have a feeling the advantage won’t last for long. You fix Jack’s hair, slightly ruffled from when you picked him up, and then lean in to kiss his forehead.

“Where’s your backpack?” you ask him, and he seems to ignore the question until you notice the footsteps making their way towards you and his attention is lost. When you turn around again, eyes settling on Clarke in this pretty blouse, back-pack in her hand and Aden trailing behind her looking similarly done up, you can’t really blame him.

“What do you think?” she says, moving to stand beside you, her left hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder. Lily and Madi pick that moment to come rushing from around the corner, feeling left out. They barrel into you one after the other and you curl an arm around them both. “I did pretty good huh?”

You look over at Jack, in his little pale orange button-down shirt and blue shorts--his freshly washed hair. “A masterpiece,” you say, though you’d think the world of him even if he was covered in mud and tracking it all over the house. Maybe a little annoyed, but still in love.

It’s the first day of school and suddenly you’re all too aware of how fast time moves and now more than ever, you want to remember what it's like to keep them close. 

 

 


	12. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapters might come out a tad later than usual because of work and it being our busy season, so thank you for bearing with me. i hope u enjoy!

 

 

4.

“Hello, Mrs. Woods?”

Your brows crease at the unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line, and you position your desk phone between your cheek and shoulder, resuming your perusal of this mornings paperwork spread out over your desk. You don’t get called ‘Mrs. Woods’ often, least of all at work, and you try to ignore the unpleasant feeling that blossoms in the pit of your stomach.

You turn the page. “This is she.”

“Hi, this is Mrs. Briar, the principle of the St. Levy School. I’m calling to discuss your daughter’s behavior in Mrs. Rivers class this morning.”

For a split second your eyes lose their focus. You shake your head subtly to clear it, shrugging the phone back into your hand and pressing it close to your ear, hoping you had heard incorrectly. “Excuse me?”

“Is there any possibility you’d be able to make it in for eleven?” Mrs. Briar asks. Glancing at the clock on the wall you see it’s barely past ten. “Since this isn’t her first class disturbance and if we’re unable to come to a solution, I’m sorry to say we won’t be able to accommodate Danny in class.”

“What did she do this time?”

“She bit another student, Mrs. Woods.”

You open your mouth to speak but stop short. There’s not much you can think to say to that.

“I know I’m most likely interrupting work, so if there’s another more suitable person at this time I can--”

“No,” and you know it comes out more firm than intended. You think briefly of Clarke, out and about with Lily and Madi, and immediately push aside the thought. It’s not something she needs to worry about. “I will be in shortly.”

“I look forward to seeing you, Ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

For eleven o’clock, the small parking lot of the St. Levy school is filled to near capacity. The sun is bright, peeking from above the brick building as you pull into a vacant visitor spot near the entrance, flicking up the visor and shifting the car into park. You waste no time in hauling yourself from your seat, tugging the keys out a tad forcefully.

When you enter, the hallways are still. You take the sunglasses from your face, hooking them onto the front of your button-up shirt, and listen to the muffled voices that spill out into the hall. You’ve been here a couple times before, and underneath the plethora of smells and scents, it takes a fair amount of self control not to pick them apart and track her down yourself. It wouldn’t be the first.

You enter the main office instead, walking up to the currently unoccupied front desk. You see people typing away at their stations, focused, and a couple mingling near the secluded offices in the back, and you lean your weight impatiently against the edge until a young woman spots you from her cubicle and quickly springs to life.

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, making her way to the front. “Mrs. Tristen stepped away for a moment, is there something I can help you with?”

“I received a call from the principle concerning my daughter,” you say and you watch as she takes in the sight of you, your crisp shirt and slacks, lingering on the badge clipped to your belt, and the recognition dawns, it seems, in a heartbeat.

"Oh--! You must be Mrs. Woods. I’m--I’m sorry, let me, uhh… let me grab Principle Briar for you. It’ll be just a second.”

The young woman walks away with a brisk step down towards the farthest office. You watch her knock, these two quick beats, and the door opens not moments later. You don’t try to eavesdrop, you really don’t, but they talk briefly and you don’t feel bad that you do.

Mrs. Briar is an older lady around Abby’s age. Soft and rounder, though not particularly shorter, with thick rimmed glasses perched on the edge of her nose. She pushes them up with the tip of her index finger, observing you openly before offering her hand. You take it, and the young woman from earlier uses the diversion to return to her seat, slinking behind Principle Briar as if relieved to no longer be under your scrutiny.

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Woods. We spoke over the phone.”

“We did.”

“If you would follow me then.”

The sounds of children and their voices slips out from behind closed doors as you make your way down the hallway, laughter and excited shouts and the creaking of little chairs. There’s an immediate response deep down in the pit of your gut at the noise.

Mrs. Rivers class is aptly labeled, residing in the left wing with the other few kindergarten classrooms. A river drawn in crayon sits just under the nametag, built up with shades of blue until the white underneath is no longer visible. Mrs. Briar knocks once and then enters.

The woman herself is younger than you expect, late twenties, red hair kept back and organized under a floral kerchief tied as a headband. She stops mid sentence, up in front of the class with a book balanced on her knee, and quickly stands and places the book on the now vacant seat.

“Okay, quick break, kids. Please stay seated, it’ll only be a second.”

Among the crowd, Jack spots you immediately, hauling himself up despite instructions and Mrs. River’s call of his name. He collides face first into your legs and you look down to him clutching your calf. His grip is tight, and your hand finds the top of his head, absently carding your fingers through his short cropped hair as you scan the room for Danny.

You find her over by the corner near the bookcase. You can tell she’s been crying, with her puffy red cheeks and glassy eyes. Her knees are pulled up to her chest and her hiccups are smothered into her knees and go largely unnoticed by the larger group at the other end of the room. Tucked behind her is Chloe, and you briefly wonder how many have tried and failed to pull them apart.

“Who did she bite?” Jack looks up at you when your hand stills, tugs at your pants and whines your name until you start again.

The teacher points to this blond haired boy with a band-aid precariously placed between his thumb and index finger. By the way he talks animatedly with his group of friends, you have a feeling he’s already gotten over the incident. There’s nothing he needs to worry about anyway.

“She won’t let anyone near Chloe, won’t talk to me...” Mrs. Rivers tells you, pulled aside near the her desk with Mrs. Briar. It’s a testament to Danny's emotional state that she fails to notice your presence right away.

You gently move Jack aside after one last pat, who follows after you anyway, and it comes to your attention when you get closer that you realize Danny isn’t unaware of you but rather attempting to ignore that you’re there. You squat down beside her and it hurts a little bit, that she pretends you’re not there. Her breathing is ragged, snot trailing its way down her chin, and behind her Chloe looks on, worry woven between the lines of her small face.

“Are you okay, Danny?” you say, soft and just for her. She sniffles and you watch as she glances at you once and then looks away again. You hear the whimper she chokes back in her throat and rubs her nose across her sleeve. “Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head finally, but her eyes find a spot on the floor and stay there.

“Danny…”

Chloe tugs at Danny’s sleeve, and you watch your daughter glance over at her friend.

“Momma--you said…” she sniffs, wet, but the snot continues to dribble down her chin regardless. “You said not to bite people.”

“I did say that.” Her breaths grow shorter as the first inklings of panic set in. Her chest heaves and you inch closer, brushing your fingers over her cheek, pushing back her hair. You wipe the dribbles of snot away with your sleeve. “But the more important question is why you felt the need to in the first place.”

“He--he made Chloe sad,” Danny mutters into her sleeve. “I d-don’t like when Chloe is sad.”

“Is this true?” you say, turning to Chloe, and she looks mildly terrified at being the center of attention, but she watches you, recognizes you, and visibly relaxes. A moment later she nods minutely. “What did he do?”

“Pushed me,” Chloe says in a quiet voice. She looks down at her hands, her little pudgy fingers curled into the edges of Danny’s tee and clenches tighter. There’s a significant lack of personal space and you sigh.

“You’re not in trouble Danny,” you reassure softly.

“But, but I--”

“Did exactly what you felt like you needed to.” You exhale. “You know what you did was bad and you know not to do it again,” and you wait until she nods along, wiping away snot with her sleeve, “but never feel like you can’t stand up for yourself or your friends. Do you understand?”

Danny nods, sniffling, and you open your arms and she unfurls herself. She wraps her arms around your torso, her face pressed into your chest and your rest your cheek against her hair.

“You can tell the teachers these things, you know. If you don’t feel comfortable,” you whisper. You catch Chloe’s eyes and smile softly. “They’re there to help you when I’m not around.”

“Mm,” Danny mumbles, her hands latching onto your shirt as tightly as they can.

“And if they don’t,” you begin, voice whispered and for her despite this faux, playful growl laced into the lines of your voice. You hear Danny’s quiet giggles. “They’ll deal with me.”

 

* * *

 

“She did what?” Clarke whispers harshly, turning to look over her shoulder at the distracted children in the living room, hurriedly dumping the plastic bags onto the kitchen table. You snag her around the waist before she manages to slip away and reel her back in.

“She bit one of her classmates,” you respond, trying and failing to capture Clarke’s attention. In retrospect maybe it would have been wiser to start off the conversation with something else.

“I heard you the first time,” Clarke says, eyes searching for Danny, who still seems a tad shaken by the whole thing. Unusually quiet in the living room, she sits off to the side, semi-ignoring Lily as she tries to show off some new toys.

“And I handled it.” You manage to secure Clarke’s attention, but she holds your stare only for a moment before looking away. “Children do stupid things, Clarke, that’s nothing new. There wasn’t any blood, and even if there was there’s no way she--”

“Lexa.”

“She was protecting Chloe,” You say quietly, at a loss for words. You hold on to the edges of Clarke’s shirt, idle and for once unsure what to do with your hands. “I’m not going to punish her for standing up for her friend.”

“I’m not--” and Clarke sighs heavily. “That’s not what I meant. I…” Clarke averts her eyes. She finds a button on your blouse, studies it. “You should’ve seen the look on Aden’s face when I dropped him off that first morning. It was like I was abandoning him.”

“He knew what he was getting into. They all did, and they were looking forward to it.” You know it was the culture shock, the newness. You hope with time…“He’s gotten better though, right?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

You trail the tips of your fingers down Clarke’s back, letting her words carry the weight she feels they deserve. “The principle suggested moving Danny and Chloe to a smaller classroom. Less kids, more attention...”

“I can’t believe we’re on our last strike and it's only been a week.”

  
You tug her closer. “Must be a record.”

 

* * *

 

You peek your head into the office downstairs and see Clarke hunched over her drafting table, meticulously measuring and erasing and redrawing under the soft glow of the lamp clipped to the edge. Through the thin slits of the blinds, the world is dark, and even with only an hour before midnight she shows no signs of stopping.

“Are you not coming to bed?”

Clarke looks up from her paper, turns to find you there in the doorway and she softens visibly at the sight.

“I promised Derrick I’d send him the plans for the new design,” Clarke says with this soft smile as she wipes her right hand over her pants. “He was expecting it hours ago but...” and she shrugs.

“You should get some rest, Clarke,” you say, and there’s that unspoken ‘with me’ that you know she hears despite the silence. It must be the look in your eyes or the way you linger as if you hope she follows. You sleep better with her around you.

“I know.” She tucks her hair back behind her ear, and you follow the path her hand makes around the curve of her ear and down near her jaw until it drops. “I will.”

(She crawls into bed around one o’clock, and you let out this sigh at the feel of her as she tucks herself close. She curls an arm around your waist and holds fast, buries her face against the back of your neck, her breath warm against your skin)

 

  
6.

You pick Danny and Jack up after school, and they come rushing from down the hall towards the front office, Mrs. Rivers’ admonishment falling onto deaf ears. Their backpacks bounce and shake, the sound of unsecured crayons and markers rattling on the inside, and they huff and puff through open mouths and wide smiles.

Crouching down, they rush into you full force and face first right into your arms, laughter muffled into your sweater.

“Were you good today?” you say to them and they nod vigorously.

You catch eyes with Mrs. Rivers over the top of their heads just down the hall and she shakes her head and sighs.

 

  
7.

Early Saturday morning finds you stuck between the kitchen and the living room as you watch Clarke rummage through the closet near the front door for a rain jacket. Madi has her head on your shoulder, her thumb in her mouth and gently suckling, eyes barely open, and you shift minutely to press your lips to her forehead.

The kids are gathered around you, Danny close to your right leg and Lily next to her. Jack clutches at your tee-shirt, and you can feel the pull as he steps closer to where Aden has separated from you, wandering further ahead to peer around the open closet door.

You hear shuffling, and then Clarke’s quiet but triumphant ‘aha’ as she pulls out a dusty green jacket. She closes the door, careful of Aden’s little fingers, and then slips her arms through the sleeves. It sits somewhat large on her, engulfs much of her upper body and she has to push up the sleeves and work at it until it sits right, but it’s her father’s. Or was. He isn’t going to get it back now, no matter how hard he tries.

“How long did Abby say she needed you?”

“A day, maybe two.” She looks up from the zipper, already given up attempting to wrangle the old thing to work and despite being connected at the bottom, the jacket hangs open. “I’m not really sure. All she said was that she needed all the help she could get.”

“We’re going to miss you.”

Clarke’s face softens and she steps close with Aden in tow and you feel her breath against your lips for a second before she steals a quick kiss. She pecks Madi lightly on the cheek as she pulls away, dips down and kisses Jack, Danny, and Lily on the crown of their heads.

“Mommy,” Aden says, tugging insistently at the back of Clarke’s jacket until she turns and he too gets a goodbye kiss. He appears satisfied when Clarke pulls away, staring up at her long after her attention has returned to you.

“Be good,” is all you can think to say in the moment and Clarke snorts and rolls her eyes and you watch that inevitable smile curl her lips. “Come back soon.”

“I haven’t even left.”

“And yet…” you trail off with a shrug, and you watch Clarke’s cheeks flush.

The movement disturbs Madi’s tentative sleep and she picks her head up, blinking owlishly. She purses her lips, rubs her eyes. When she lowers her hands, she squints at Clarke for a moment before reaching out for her and you wordlessly hand her over.

“Good morning, baby,” Clarke whispers as Madi settles, their noses touching. She kisses a rosy cheek and Madi gurgles and giggles, her fingers wrapped around the edges of Clarke’s jacket, holding fast. “You’re going to be good, right? Won’t give momma trouble while I'm gone.”

Madi shakes her head, still giggling, and Clarke inhales an exaggerated gasp before tucking her face into the crook of Madi’s neck and blowing a raspberry. Madi squirms, her laughter amplifying, and Clarke uses the opportunity to hand her back to you. She tucks herself close towards your warmth, happy to be far away from anymore potential tickles.

“Give us a call later,” you say, rubbing your hand over Madi’s back as you watch Clarke look at you with this lopsided smile. “Please.”

“If my mother lets me.”

“Like you listen to your mother.”

Clarke scoffs, shakes her head and leans in for one last kiss which you offer without prompting. “I’ll miss you, too” she mutters, forehead to forehead, and you close your eyes for a moment and breathe in the scent of her. “And the kids.”

You smile.

Clarke steps back, gathering her duffle of extra clothes and the small satchel of essentials, checking things over one last time. When she’s finished, she offers you one last look, waving to the kids, before disappearing out into the gray, misty morning.

Silence reigns in the hallway, that almost soft patter against the windows that bracket the front door as the drizzle picks up, and you watch as the streaks of rain meander down the glass. There a multiple moments where you try to get yourself to move, to finish up where breakfast left off, but you don’t.

Madi watches the door, blue eyes waiting, searching. You can pinpoint the moment the revelation sinks in and it’s not long after that this sad, pitiful whine crawls its way up the back of her throat.

“I know,” you say softly, tearing your eyes away from the door. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

You forget how little of you there is until it’s just you and the kids. Not that you mind. There’s a certain calm in the fact that there’s no time to think about the fact that Clarke is away for the day. Potentially two. Breakfast needs finishing, the eggs sizzle in their pan and the smell of the sausage draws the lot of them closer and they (sans Madi who is strapped into her high chair) hover in your space as you go about fixing plates and spreading strawberry jam over the toast after it pops up from the toaster.

The rain has settled, though the clouds remain, and by the time breakfast has been eaten and you’ve enlisted some help in cleaning the kitchen, you decide you like the exhaustion it brings. It draws your mind away from other things.

Around 4:30 you get a call. You see five pairs of eyes zero in on you as you pull your cellphone from your backpocket, and you can’t help the small grin that steals it's way to your lips at the picture the greats you.

“Careful, you’re on speaker,” you manage to say before the cacophony of voices scramble to be heard above the rest.

“Mommy, mommy, at breakfast I--””

“--a bug, but momma said no and--”

“--saved you some sausage--”

“--you see any dead people?”

You hear Clarke laugh. “Whoa there, slow down, one at a time, please.”

Madi reaches out for your hand and you let her bring it closer to her ear. She listens for a moment, holding your hand and subsequently the phone, and when the silence stretches for a beat to long she decides to speak up.

“Mommy,” she starts, and you watch the concentration form on her face.

“Yes, baby,” Clarke responds, and you can tell by the sound of her voice she’s smiling.

Madi’s voice is a whisper. “Hi,” she says, cupping a hand over her mouth.

“Hello to you too.”

 

* * *

 

You call Clarke around midnight because you find that you want to hear her voice, but it goes to voicemail after the fourth ring. You wait, listening to her rambling message before the beep draws you from the daze you had sunken into. There’s nothing you can think to say besides that you love her, so after you hang up you reach over and place your phone on the nightstand.

Two minutes later, it rings.

“I love you, too.”

You roll over, facing Clarke’s side and smile into your pillow. If you close your eyes and listen, it’s almost like having her next to you.

 

  
12.

“Where were you this morning?” Clarke asks as you crawl into bed after a long day. Your body aches but when you slip under the covers, pressing close to Clarke’s back, you feel content.

“Anya needed the help with a drug deal downtown.”

“Did you bring any home?”

“Clarke.”

And she chuckles sleepily.

 

  
14.

“Where are Aden’s shoes?”

“They’re not by the door?” you say as you cut up bits and pieces of pancakes for Madi to chew, the others engrossed in their own breakfast plate. You hold out the fork, your left hand cupped underneath to be safe, but of course the moment you look away, catching sight of Clarke as she darts by the kitchen and into the living room, the piece drops.

“No,” Clarke says the same moment you mutter a quiet apology to Madi. You spear the syrup soaked pancake piece again, holding it up.

Your daughter watches you as though you lack basic human competency. “You can feed yourself you know, I’ve seen you do it,” you say and Madi opens her mouth. you deposit the pancake slice inside. She chews happily, humming.

“Lexa.”

You turn in your seat towards the hall. “Yes, love.”

Clarke watches you, her arms crossed, leaning against the entryway into the kitchen. She shakes her head at you, smiling softly. “She’s using you, you know.”

“I know.”

 

  
20.

“Aren’t you late?”

You place your mug aside on the counter, wiping away the dribble of coffee at the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “I am never late,” you say, reaching for an apple in the basket on the kitchen island. You polish it against the front of your blouse as you make you way past the table and subsequently Clarke, who catches you as you walk by, pulls you back, and you dip low to kiss her.

“I’m not sure I like this new routine,” she whispers, the kids crunching away on their cereal.

There are times when you forget to feel overwhelmed and you know it's a blessing. With the stress and worry of the past couple weeks and the schedule you and Clarke have set yourselves there’s not much time for anything else. You set yourself a task and you do it and move on.

You miss the in-between deeply, though, and so you steal another kiss. “I’ll see you later.”

 

* * *

 

“We need bread.”

“Mmm...”

“Juice…” And Clarke ‘s voice tapers off. You think she’s finally fallen asleep, draped over you on the couch with her face buried against your neck, and then, “eggs,” softly muttered, and finally “toothpaste.”

“Are you propositioning me?” you say softly into her hair, tracing your nails over her back. You’re sure you hear her chuckle over the quiet noise of the television.

“I wish I was.”

 

  
24.

“How was your anniversary?”

You look up from your notes. Around you officers mingle about in the station’s office, people with coffee in the hallway by the offices and near the water dispenser, the phone ringing off the hook and the background noise that somehow still seems quiet compared to home. “My what?”

“Your anniversary,” Anya repeats, with a surprising lack of sarcasm. In its place is a sincere curiosity you’re not quite sure how to respond to, and as a result it takes a moment to formulate a response.

You turn your back towards the others, lowering your voice. “You know that doesn’t mean anything to us. Marriage in and of itself is a purely human concept, and by relation--”

She nudges you with her elbow. “When was the last time you went on a run?”

You stop, blinking, taken aback by the sudden question. “A few days ago?”

Anya throws you a look. “Without the pups.”

“Why wouldn’t we take them with us?” you say. “They deserve it.”

“And you also deserve some time for yourselves.” Anya jabs her pointer finger into your side. You look down at it incredulously and then back up. “If you’re going to surround yourself with humans you might as well act like one.”

“The full moon is tomorrow.”

“Then go the day after. I’ll even watch the pups for you. Consider it uh,” and she pauses, this nearly imperceptible tick to the corner of her mouth, “an anniversary gift.”

“Now I know you’re joking.”

Anya rolls her eyes, throwing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you in close. “See if ever offer do anything nice for you again.”

 

  
26.

You feel out of your skin in way you find difficult to explain. Maybe it’s the excitement--the anticipation. You have learned much of control and its importance over the years, but now, with some semblance of peace, the freedom you feel is almost too much all at once.

It’s something Clarke picks up on immediately.

“After-moon jitteriness?” she teases, tugging you closer by your hips. The house is quiet and her lips look soft and inviting so you do what you do best. You steal a kiss.

“I’m excited,” you say softly against her skin.

“Does this have something to do with Anya watching the pups for the night?” she asks. “How did you even manage that?”

You kiss her again and it’s short but incredibly sweet. “She owed me a favor.”

“Oh? And you’re sure she can handle it?”

“She has Raven, and the pups were more than happy to see her when I dropped them off.”

“We still have yet to meet her, by the way. Raven.”

“They’re busy people. So are we.” She leans her forehead against yours. “Everything will be fine, Clarke, trust me.”

It’s long unhurried minutes before you pull away, more than comfortable in her presence and the feel of her hands on your waist.

“Apparently it was our anniversary last week.”

The confusion that crosses Clarke’s face makes you chuckle. Her head tilts to the side and her brows pinch together and you love watching the way her mind works. “Our anniversary?” she repeats.

“I know.”

“It’s been how long now?” Clarke looks after you wistfully. “Eight? Nine?”

You finish rounding up the plates and silverware and wine glasses and you think about it. There’s too much and at the same time not nearly enough. It makes you feel warm. “Depends on what you’re referencing.”

“Remember when you--”

You don’t let her finish. “I remember.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Because I know where this is headed.”

“So?”

“You hated me when we met.”

“That’s a strong word.”

“I distinctly remember you telling me to ‘fuck off’ three seconds after meeting me.” You finally turn to face her. “And that was after I found you trespassing on my territory.”

“To be fair you had quite the attitude back then--hey, no, no, no,” Clarke quickly shushes, talking over you the moment you go to open your mouth. You roll your eyes so hard it’s almost like you can see the back of your head. “--and while incredibly hot, it was also stupidly frustrating.” She pauses, and you see her soften. “C’mon, you can’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same of me.”

“I was intrigued,” you say as she comes closer. You can’t not look so you watch her eyes and feel your mouth go dry. “Possibly aroused.”

“Possibly?”

“Would you like to go for a run?”

Clarke raises a brow, smiling slightly at your blatantly obvious avoidance tactics. Luckily for you, she decides to let it go. “A run? Just the two of us?”

You lean in, taking her lips gently and you feel her hum. “We could stretch our legs without having to worry... maybe hunt something larger than a squirrel for once.” You brush your nose over hers, angling your head so can you nip at the line of her jaw. “Scare the townsfolk.”

Clarke tilts her head to the side and you kiss the column of her throat. She chuckles. “That sounds like fun.”

 

  
30.

“Quit it or I’ll bite you,” Clarke says underneath her breath as she sits forward, this subtle growl deep in her throat and your hand pauses there on her hip. The sun is warm despite the coolness of the September breeze that floats across the backyard and you press your mouth to the slope of her shoulder where her loose neckline of her sweater slips away and the skin you find is warm.

“What happened to teaching the pups proper manners?” you mutter, resting your hand over her stomach. Clarke shoots you a look over her shoulder, admonishing though slightly amused, and you lean forward and kiss the line of her jaw.

“Manners don’t mean anything when your wife is being–” Clarke’s lips spread into an involuntary smile and she swats at your hand, “–stop that.”

You pull away, wrapping your arms around her waist and tugging her back against you. “Why? Because you’re exceptionally easy to tickle?”

“My skin is sensitive.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, sighing, and the hair in her face flutters at the exhale. She tucks the strands aside and settles reluctantly back against you, looking out across the backyard and the kids rolling around in the cool grass a few feet away.

You try again a few minutes later knowing full well what to expect and you relish in the laughter that follows. The undignified snorts and the way Clarke squirms in your hold until she manages to escape, turning around to pin you to the ground. The grass tickles the back of your neck, your arms, and Clarke dips her head and nips playfully at your neck. You feel just the hint of teeth along your jaw, in that slight sting of pain in your bottom lip as Clarke bites down only for her to pull away and kiss you gently afterward.

You let out this breathy hum, picking yourself up and chasing the softness of her lips. You get nose to nose before she pushes you back down.

The corner of Clarke’s mouth is curled, and you look up at the mischief in her eyes. The silence lasts just a moment, stretched out beneath her and the sun haloed behind her. You push her over onto her back and Clarke’s laughter is infectious and bright, bubbling beneath your fingers. The kids must hear the commotion because they’re by your side within seconds, piling onto the both of you and giggling like mad.

The air is crisp and cold, but the bodies around you are warmer. That afternoon feels like the last of summer. 

 

 


	13. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost there...

 

 

1.

You hear the front door open, the squeak of the hinges and the noticeable thunk it makes against the wall of the hallway as the kids push past. Clarke’s voice comes in hushed whispers, but the tell-tale sign is the conspiratory giggles, and you turn in time to see Aden and Jack scramble past the kitchen and up the stairs, each carrying a plastic bag. You stare after them, only semi aware of Clarke as she makes her way into the kitchen and to your side.

“How was home?” Clarke says, cupping your cheeks and pulling your attention away from the stairs. She kisses you soundly and it almost works.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Clarke responds, her face still close. She leans in for another kiss, captures your lips gently and you can feel your insides melt.

It’s a miracle you manage to pull away. “Clarke.”

“What?”

“I told you not to get me anything.”

“Who said anything about getting you something.” Clarke says, voice low. Her hands fall to your shoulders, and you look around Clarke towards the hall. You see nothing besides Lily and Madi coloring at the table out of the corner of your eye, Danny somewhere underneath playing with toys. Behind you the pot of water boils.

“So Aden and Jack have a newfound taste for the Sears automotive department.”

Clarke’s lips purse. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Clarke turns away, reaching for the box of elbow macaroni. She wedges her thumb underneath the top lip, drags it across. The job isn’t neat, the cardboard peeling in uneven strips, but she tears away the rest and then dumps the entire contents of the box into the pot.

You try to shoo her away, but she stubbornly doesn't budge. You stand hip to hip and arm to arm and you can’t help but smile. “This right here is enough.”

“I give really good gifts though.”

“I have all the gifts I need right here,” you say softly and by the look on Clarke’s face she understands the compliment.

She elbows you in the arm. “I like making you happy, you butt.”

“You make me happy, Clarke.” You watch her and she rolls her eyes. You turn back to the pot and Clarke drops her head to your shoulder with this audible thud, sighing. You pick up the fork to your right, placing a blind kiss to the top of Clarke’s head. The macaroni tumbles in the water as you stir. “And thank you. For not swearing.”

 

 

2.

Tiny candles flicker as Clarke makes her way towards the table, the kitchen dark besides the light that emanates soft from them. It makes her cheeks glow, and you find yourself watching her over the spectacle as she wanders over from the counter with this small cake, careful, right hand cupped in front to keep the flames from going out. The kids are already pressed around you at the table, singing loudly and out of sync, skipping words as they try to follow Clarke’s lead, and you decide to let it slide that you see Jack nearly standing in his seat, butt wiggling and leaning heavily against the table.

The ending is a mess, singing that tapers into soft howls and it melds into the back of your mind as you watch the flicker of the flames and the steady drip of the colorful wax candles as they melt. It’s hard to think of much at all. There’s your job and all its paperwork, the pups and school, Clarke and you, and it’s here sitting at the table as the lot of them wait for you to blow out the candles that it’s hard to believe where you are. How you’ve come to get here.

Last october was a blur. With the move and all, what you remember of your birthday last year is a cupcake and the dozen or so boxes still left to unpack in your new living room. The furniture haphazardly arranged because you and Clarke had trouble agreeing on where things should go (the lazy makeout session late that night on a half made bed).

It was all you could have ask for.

You don’t know how you’ve managed to top it.

“Candles momma, the candles,” Lily says as she presses her cheek against your right arm, leaning out of her chair. You blink once, finding Clarke on the other side of the table, standing behind Jack and Aden, and she watches you with open affection.

You don’t think of anything to wish for, and the flames extinguish in a huff of breath. The lights flicker on a moment later and with it so does the noise. You trail after Clarke, watching as she gathers the plates and forks and a knife. She sets them down in front of you when she returns, her left hand finding the middle of your back, and she stays there, a bystander to the commotion as you go about cutting the small, store-bought cake.

You make the first slice, and you use your index finger and the knife to guide it safely onto the plate. You lick the bit of frosting stuck to your finger and then go to cut the second. To your right you hear Madi’s almost ominous chants of “cake, cake, cake” as she wiggles in her high chair. It endears you more than it should.

“Lily sit,” you say, her mess of blonde hair prominent in your peripheral. Lily hastily worms herself back into a seated position, just tall enough with the added cushions to rest her chin on the tabletop, arms spread out in front of her as if she can reach the cake through mind-power alone. She licks her lips. “You too, Jack.”

Your son sinks back into his seat.

Only when each piece is handed out do you cut a slice for you and Clarke from the remains. You give her the larger piece and she takes it from you with a soft thanks and a kiss to your temple, wandering to your left and pulling out a chair at the end of the table, Danny to her right and Aden to her left.

Cake is eaten as it should be. In other words, devoured. You end up rationing the remains of your piece between the five of them, after a failed attempt to ignore the five pleading pairs of eyes as they watched you slowly pick at your dessert.

You’re cleaning off bits of chocolate frosting from Danny’s cheeks when Clarke gets up. She rounds up the plates and the silverware and wanders off behind you, and you listen for her. The quietness of her movements, the clink of the dishes. When she returns, she comes bearing gifts.

“Clarke--”

“Zip it,” she says as she sets down a few packages wrapped in the old comic’s section of the newspaper. “They’re small.”

And they are. A small but sleek leather-bound notebook, a set of nice pens, a bottle of that hair stuff you like, and then a new pair of work boots from the kids. You think it must be a replacement for the pair they chewed through months ago.

“See?” Clarke says after everything is said and done. It’s just to you, quiet, and you look over at her and wonder what you did to get so lucky.

 

* * *

 

“I love you.”

Clarke laughs softly against your lips, arms tight around your neck, pulling you down closer. You want to press yourself to every inch of her.  

“You’re so--” and you kiss her. She smiles into it.  “--easy to please.”

“Exceptionally,” you breathe. Clarke chuckles and you feel it spilt over your lips and you take what you can of it before leaning back in. Her skin is soft under your mouth and you feel that hitch, the way her lips react slowly to yours, lost in all the right ways, and she has to angle her face away to breathe.

“Lexa,” she sighs, unfurling her arms from around your neck to snake them around your waist, curling her fingers into the skin of your hips. You let her catch her breath, trailing small, feather light kisses along the column of her throat until you feel her swallow.

“Isn’t it  _your_  birthday?” she manages a moment later, a husk to her voice. She moves her left hand, uses it to push the hair from her face, and you pull away to admire the healthy flush to her neck and chest.

“It most certainly is."

 

 

8.

The door to your room creaks when it opens, and by now the sound has become an alarm all its own. You push yourself up, turning to look over your shoulder at the door and you see there between the sliver of darkness of early morning a patch of Lily’s bright blonde hair.

“What time is it...” Clarke groans, still half asleep and you shush her quietly.

“Lily, baby, what’s the matter?” Your voice sounds loud as it empties into the open space of your room, or at the very least it stirs Clarke to wakefulness.

At the soft admission Lily scurries over to your bedside. She grasps at the edge of the bed, grumbling under her breath as she pulls herself up with a little of your help. Your daughter climbs over you, wedges herself between you and Clarke. You can feel her shaking, these tiny shivers that run through the length of her and she tries to still by pressing herself close. It doesn’t seem to work.

On the other side, Clarke has propped herself up, head in her hand as her right gently rubs  circles over Lily’s back. She yawns, wide and long, tears collecting involuntarily in the corner of her eyes, but doesn’t stop.

“What’s the matter, baby?” you try again, but Lily merely shakes her head against you, tucked under your chest. “Nightmares?”

You feel her nod. “Wolf,” Lily mumbles, little hands digging into your side. She nudges and nudges as if trying to change you herself. “Momma, wolf.”

You share a look with Clarke and get stuck on the soft slope to her smile. “You heard the girl.”

Sighing, you adjust among the space, stretching leisurely until you feel things pull taught. On the release you let go, and you feel the shift among your bones. You exhale loudly through your nose when things settle, trying to find another comfortable spot now that things have shifted. You nudge your pillow aside with your nose and it teeters off the side of the bed, falls. Clarke chuckles quietly beside you.

“Wait a second,” Clarke says, pulling back Lily a smidge for room and then reaching for your shirt. She helps you out of it. “You’ll just end up tangled in it in the morning.”

You paw at your folded back ear helplessly after the shirt is removed, and you let out this sigh when Clarke reaches to fix that too, running her fingers through your fur, scratching behind your ears. Lily doesn’t waste time, eagerly scooting back towards you, pressing along your side.

“Momma’s soft, isn’t she.”

“Mm,” Lily mumbles in agreement. You can feel her nod absently against you, and when you pick your head up to look she’s basically already asleep. Her hands are curled into your coat and you feel the tugs of her fingers as she gets comfortable. It’s only a matter of minutes before she stills.

“Such a softy,” Clarke whispers, and you glance at her only briefly before putting your head back down and closing your eyes.

There’s movement among the sheets as Clarke draws herself closer to the two of you, pulling up the blankets and then throwing an arm around you both. She gives a gentle squeeze, her subsequent sigh the definition of content.

 

 

12.

The winds pick up and all the leaves get caught in middle. Cloudy gray skies and then bright oranges and yellows and reds tossed haphazardly among the breeze, skittering across the pavement between cars. There’s an instinct inside you, a need to feel crisp leaves and cold earth underfoot, but the only option you have right now is to stare longingly out your office window.

“We have Peters on route right now towards south main,” Anya says. “Sent Davis with him as a precaution.”

You hear her, somewhere far off in the back of your mind but you don’t pay it any attention. You take a few moments to think.

“Lexa.”

You pull your attention back, clearing your throat. You look down at the papers. “You think he’s ready to handle something on his own?”

“That’s what Davis is for. Any fuck up and she’ll right him real quick.”

“She has more important things to do than babysit a rookie.”

“Like?” Anya pushes, taking a seat on the arm of the chair in front of your desk. “I caught you daydreaming. I think that speaks for our busyness all by itself.”

She pauses then, turning to look out the window. You manage a few moments of concentration before giving in and following her line of sight. The hold you have on your pen goes limp.

“It smells like fall now.”

“It does,” you say softly, and this sort-of wistfulness takes hold of your voice.

“Have any plans?”

“With Clarke?”

“Sure.”

You shrug. “Parent teacher conferences are next week.” You catch the light of the sun as it peeks through the clouds. You blink and look away. “I was hoping to maybe pull her away from work for a night, but she’s been busy.”

“Riveting.”

“It is.”

Anya smiles and you know she finds it amusing because you mean it.

 

 

15.

“Lexa!” Clarke calls from down the main hall, she tucks her hair behind her ear as she squeezes past a couple of other parents, muttered apologies under her breath when she misjudges the space and knocks shoulders. You stand there off to the side near Mrs. Rivers’ classroom and wait, wondering if it's merely the trick of the lights that has your heart skipping beats. You know it’s not, you’re still just hopeless and in love.

“Clarke,” you say when she gets close enough.

“Hey--hi, sorry I’m late.” She curls an arm around your waist, pulls herself close and kisses your cheek. “Mom got stuck in traffic so I couldn’t--”

“It’s fine.” You gesture to the door behind you to your right. “They’re running long anyway.”

Clarke pulls away but keeps her hand attached to your hip, bunched in the fabric of your sweater. She takes stock of the hall and the other parents and quiet conversations happening in clumps. You watch her eyes as they flit between posters and doors and people, lingering here and there, and the line of concentration between her brows deepens.

“See anybody we know?”

“A couple in passing,” you say. “Luke was on his way out when I arrived, and Sydney’s parents…” you motion to the left. Clarke looks over her shoulder. “They came over and asked about the kids.”

Clarke hums. She turns back to you. “I wonder if the Jeffersons--”

The door opens then and a mother shuffles out with a muttered thank you. A second later Mrs. Rivers peers around the door at the sign up sheet taped to the frame. You know you’re next, but when she spots the two of you, she does a subtle double take. She blinks, clears her throat to hide the obvious embarrassment, and calls out. “Woods?”

Clarke moves first, stepping away from your space and leading you by the hand into the classroom. It seems bigger compared to the last time you were here, and without the abundance of children it's no wonder as to why. Things are neat and tidy, books are packed away into shelves, the rugs clear of toys, and the collection of small chairs are pushed under equally small desks.

“I’m sorry about--” Mrs. Rivers stops herself, motioning to a small table with three chairs. It’s informal and intimate and you and Clarke take a seat. “I didn’t mean to be rude earlier, I wasn’t expecting--” She stops herself again, taking a moment to consciously exhale and recenter herself. She holds out her hand to Clarke. “I’m Mrs. Rivers, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet. Clarke right?”

Clarke smiles, amusement clear on her face as she takes the offered hand. “That would be me.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Mrs. Rivers lowers herself into the available seat, rifling through a manila folder until she pulls out two papers. She places them side by side on the table, and the folds her hands together, palm to palm. “So, how are you feeling so far? Better? I feel like progress is being made compared to where we started.”

“Better, definitely,” you say, and Clarke weaves her hand with yours under the table.

“Good, I’m glad to hear it,” Mrs. Rivers says. She places her palm over the first paper puts it in front of her. “I really think the smaller classroom helped. Danny seems more willing to participate in group activities, as long as she’s with Chloe. She’s still a little shy but that’s normal. Nothing wrong with that.”

“They’re kinda,” Clarke starts, measuring the words in her head. “Attached at the hip, the two of them.”

“Did they grow up together?”

Clarke shakes her head. “No. We actually moved down from Maine just last October and they struck up a friendship almost the moment they met.” She brushes her thumb back and forth over your ring. “To be honest I think we’re all still adjusting.”

“Totally understandable,” Mrs. Rivers says. “She’s still a bit shy and that’s normal, but if it’s something you’re worried about, we can keep an eye on it. But for now I say let her adjust, work things through by herself and at her own pace.”

Mrs. Rivers takes a breath. “She struggles a bit with reading, and so does Jack to an extent but we’ll get to him in a second. I don’t think it’s a lack of skill, I think it simply has trouble keeping her attention. If you can, try exploring some different options with her at home? All it takes sometimes is that initial spark.”

You think briefly of getting Danny to sit still long enough to hold a book let alone attempt to read one and the thought makes your lips quirk. “We’ll see what we can do.”

 

* * *

 

The meeting lasts the full twenty minutes, stretches maybe an extra five as you digress into random tangents before Mrs. Rivers shakes your hands and leads you back to the door. She thanks you for your time and you do the same.

The hallway has thinned by the time you make your way towards the front office and the entrance, significantly less parents, but even then you managed to catch a few eyes and all Clarke does is step closer.

“What do you say about me taking you out to dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says as you exit through the doors, wrapping her arm more securely around your waist. “I doubt my mother plans on going anywhere so… I can shoot her a text and we can, you know…”

You lean down, the brisk october air curling itself near your neck and under your ears, and you steal a kiss to feel her warmth. It lands off to the side of her mouth and Clarke hums happily at the feeling. You make it a couple more steps out onto the parking lot before Clarke stops, curling another arm around you until your chest to chest between the lights.

“Is that a yes?” she whispers.

“Take me away, love.”

 

 

20.

You get home to a house that is already soundly asleep. The only light is the lamp in the main hallway, and you shrug out of you coat and stow it and then slip out of your shoes. You nudge them into line with the rest, setting aside your bag and keys on the small end table near the door, quiet as possible. It’s barely after nine, and it’s the last thing you expect to come home to after some trouble at work had you stopping by the station for a short half shift.  

When you left, the kitchen had been bustling. There were potatoes boiling in a pot as Clarke cut chunks of roast beef to be broiled, Madi on the floor with Lily and Danny and Jack playing a precarious game tug of war with a stuffed animal that had seen better days. Only Aden seemed to manage some semblance of calm, stood beside Clarke, watching as she went about her work, probably hoping for a little something before dinner.  

To be honest you’re sad you missed it, but when you glance into the living room, finding Clarke shifted and curled into the corner of the couch, it almost makes up for it. She sees you, but she doesn’t move her head from where she has it resting on her paws.

“Clarke,” you say, and her tail starts to thump. “What are you doing?”

She slinks off the couch, claws clicking against the hardwood the second her paws touch the floor. She’s next to you in moments, leaning her weight against you. Her eyes close blissfully when you comb your fingers over her cheeks, to the base of her ears, and you hear the rumble start in her chest.

“Were you cold?”

She pushes her nose into your palm to prove a point. It’s wet and chilly to the touch.

You smile. “Touché.”

 

 

24.

The night is cold and damp, the dirt sogged with moisture and what smells like mold. It’s soft under your paws and they sink. You hear the subtle slurch, the mud that coats them when you take a step and then another, soil caught in the tufts of fur between pads. There’s a certain musk to it, almost rotting as the leaves disintegrate and crumble, old fallen tree limbs buried under a near year’s worth of weather, but there’s a freshness to it, too. In some weird way.

Ahead of you the pups scuffle, zipping back and forth and into one another. Little growls and yips, playful bites and tussles. Aden chases after Jack through the brush, wide mouths and breath a cloud of fog. Danny explores to your right, toeing the limit of acceptable distance that is starting to make you anxious. You let out a cautionary ‘woof’ and it rumbles from your chest, deep. Low. She picks her head up, hearing even at such a distance, finding you further away then even she anticipated and quickly scurries back.

Clarke stops beside you, Lily and Madi trailing behind her like planets in a system. She watches for a moment, side by side with you, waiting as Danny makes her way closer, barking. Your daughter weaves between your legs,  and Clarke dips her head to nudge her playfully in the butt. Danny wanders off again, sticking closer this time.

It’s a moment. You’re caught dreaming, and Clarke reaches out and nips at your ear. You pull away, shaking your head to get rid of the negligible pain, exhaling loudly through your nose. You stare at her beside you, but she looks back blank faced, and tilts her head to the side. An ear flicks, the other idly listening to the surrounding sounds, and it's the tell tale sign of amusement as she watches you. 

She’s off a second later, like a shot. A blur among the late grey night, and the pups zero in on her immediately, abandoning current tasks to follow like shadows behind her.

You start up slowly. A walk. Brisk. Canter. And then, long strides. Your limbs stretch, tendons and muscles pulled taut and that light burn at the push. The cold air rushes in through your open mouth, down your throat and you feel autumn settle there in the pit of your lungs.

(the distance closes fast and there’s nothing quite like it. Clarke next to you, keeping pace, and the sounds of pups behind you. A certain kind of peace you’ve found only the woods can bring)

You feel the moon, too. Overhead it hangs low, bight and full. You see it between branches--in the puddles of water collected in the mud. In the white of Clarke’s fur…

And it’s moments like these were the night doesn’t seem long enough.

 

 

31.

The pups crowd the windows the bracket the front door, still dressed in their costumes from the small walk around the neighborhood you had taken before dusk fell. Right now the sun is just a hint of light behind the houses across the street, but families and older teenagers still make rounds around the neighborhood, and you don’t need the doorbell to tell you when someone is making their way up to the front door. The doorbell is rung anyways, but you already have the bowl of candy in hand.

You shoo them away as you pull open the door. “Come on, Jack, Aden, back up a little bit please.”

A little girl in an astronaut suit yells out trick-or-treat as loud as she can, and you hold out the bowl of candy for her to dig through. She chirps out a just as loud ‘thank you’ after scouring for the best piece and sticking it in her bag.  

“You're welcome,” you say with an amused smile but she’s already teetering off down the porch and back to her parents.

You close the door again, place the bowl back down on the end table, and the pups scurry back to the windows muttering to each other, faces pressed close to the glass as they watch. Clarke meets you just by the living room, catching you by the hand and pulling you in before you get the chance to escape to the couch.

You sigh, slightly annoyed at being caught, but you kiss the side of Clarke’s head and stay.

“Do you remember last year?” Clarke says, quiet. You wait a moment to see if she’ll finish the thought, but she doesn’t. Too lost in her observation of the pups by the window and their palpable excitement as someone must wander close to the driveway--and then the subtle disappointment as they wander away.

Something about it makes you feel light. “Yes, I do.”

 

 


	14. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think i'll finish december till around mid-january (there's a couple christmas prompts i wanna try) but with the ending so close i just wanted to say: thank you! for sticking with me through this.

 

 

1\.  

You don’t know why Clarke wakes up with you, but she does. It’s still dark and you know she hates it (in a way so do you) but you hear her footsteps as she descends the staircase not two minutes after you, the wood creaking under the weight, before you see her appear around and into the kitchen halfway through a yawn.

The coffee pots gurgles, drips steadily into the pot as Clarke moves to stand pressed beside you, leeching a bit of warmth. You pour her a cup first when it finishes, sliding the mug over the counter towards her while she fishes through the fridge for the cream. A small amount dribbles over the top, spills onto the counter as the abundance of added cream causes it to overflow, and Clarke dips to take a sip before more is lost.

“Careful,” you say, voice soft so as not to disturb the morning. Clarke doesn’t seem to listen.

She adds some sugar and then takes another sip, stealing the spoon you set aside to mix everything together. After several cautionary sips later, she lifts up the cup when she’s sure it won’t spill, cradled carefully close to her chest. She hands you back the spoon, and steps away, but you can feel her presence still close as she watches you fix yourself a cup all your own.

You stand there next to each other for who knows how long, drinking your coffee by the counter shoulder to shoulder. The sun peaks slowly through the front window to your left, spills cautiously over the floor, stretches. It's a minute, maybe two, but you do manage to pull yourself away.

Clarke remains.

You put together a few things. A snack for later, your notes and the case file Anya wanted you to look over--your phone and the small leather-bound notebook… Clarke rests her weight against the counter, hip cocked, mug held still against her shoulder as she observes you quietly.

“It’s cold outside,” she says, and you turn towards her with this lopsided smile.

“Thank you, I didn’t notice.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, pushing herself away from the counter. She wanders over to where you’ve made a pile of the things waiting to be stuffed into your laptop bag. Her free hand finds your hip, palm warm from the mug, and she pulls herself close and kisses your cheek.

“Put on a Jacket,” she says after she pulls away.

You study the blue of her eyes, the mirth collected in the depths of them, and the line of your mouth tilts upwards.  “Practice what you preach, Clarke.”

“I don’t need one when I have you.”

She smiles when you lean in to press a kiss to her lips and then go about organizing the mess on the kitchen table into your bag. Clarke moves away, drinking the last of her coffee before leaving the mug in the sink for later. She pats you on the shoulder on her way by, and you watch, distracted, as she makes her way around the corner towards the bathroom.

You linger at the table for a minute, hands idle and still as you listen. It’s quiet besides those early morning noises, but there's no denying you’re waiting to see Clarke one more time. You’re punctual. To a fault really, and once the clock ticks over into 7am, you count your losses. You grab your phone, your bag, your snack and leave.

Your breath fogs, billows out in front as you exhale that first breath of air when you step out onto the front porch, the grass covered in frost. You have to scrape some of it off your windshield, the car rumbling and idle, the heat on full blast. It clings stubbornly, and the tips of your fingers are  well on their way to numb by the time you finish.

It's the sound of Clarke clearing her throat than makes you jump.

You turn around, closing the passenger door after tossing the ice scraper back inside, and take in the sight of her a few feet away bundled in one of your Jackets. Her cheeks are red, but she’s smiling so maybe it's just a blush. She hands over the tupperware container of last night’s soup, pushes it into your chest and you quickly take hold of it before it falls.

“You forgot this,” she says with a barely there grin, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “Share it with Anya, okay? I promised her leftovers weeks ago.”

You curl your hands around it more securely, and you feel the stretch of your lips as the smile takes hold. You lean in and take her lips gently and she presses forward into you. Your noses smush and her laughter settles gently over your cheeks.

 

2.

“Thank you,” you say softly as Aden steps up on his little stool beside you, handing over the bottle of olive oil. You tilt the skillet towards him instead, urging, and he grins as he unscrews the cap. He grips the neck of the bottle firmly, tipping it just so and a generous amount pours out into the pan. You tilt the bottle up before more is wasted.

You place the skillet back on the burner, reaching for the jar of honey to your left. You twist off the cap, scooping out a small amount with a teaspoon and adding it for a small splash of sweetness.

“Ham please.” You gesture to the bowl with the pieces of cut up ham all set up and ready to go. Aden reaches for it, pulls it closer.

“Ham!” he says, dumping the bowl. A few pieces hit the rim and scatter, and you pick them up and toss them back in.

The meat sizzles as you push it around with a wooden spoon, and there’s a sweetness that can already be tasted on the back of your tongue. And you can hear Clarke’s voice go quiet among the kids in the other room. It’s not even a minute before she peaks into the kitchen.

“That smells good,” she says, wandering closer. She stops on your left side opposite Aden, peering over your shoulder as the ham sautes. Her chin finds your shoulder, rests there. “New recipe?”

“It’s what we had in the fridge.”

Clarke picks her head up, leans forward and catches Aden’s stare. They share a grin. “Are you helping, bud?”

Aden nods proudly. “Mmhmm, I’m helpin’!”

You push the meat around more, and it sizzles among the oil and honey. You figure just a few more minutes, and you tap the rim with the spoon. The sound rings dully. “Grab me the spinach from the fridge, Aden? Please.”

He hops down from his stool, scrambles over to the fridge. Clarke watches him go, this lilt to her smile as he tugs hard on the handle and the fridge swings open. He hurries back.

“Apples?” you say next and he darts off again.

Clarke chuckles, kisses your cheek, and they burn pleasantly as the feeling.

“Must be nice having help,” she says.

You grin. “You have no idea.”

 

3.

It snows late Saturday night, and you had known it would but it still takes you by surprise. The first few drifts come in deceptively slow, the flakes small and meandering just outside the kitchen window as you work through the dishes with Clarke’s help. When everything's said and done, however, there’s not much to see besides the darkness and this sheet of white, the piles already collected a few inches high on the outside patio set and the railings of the porch.

You also find it kind of funny how Clarke tries to ignore it. As if that would make it any less real.

“Clarke, it’s--”

“No,” she says with a certain finality, eyes focused on the last few plates to dry. “It’s still fall and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Your mouth spreads into a smile at the sight of her beside you. A thick sweater over a green t-shirt you can see peeking out beneath the collar, dark blue sweatpants and maybe two pairs of socks. She’d have a scarf if they weren’t still in the attic somewhere with the rest of the winter-wear, but your glad she doesn’t because it means you can lean over and press your lips to the side of her neck.

It makes her shiver.

 

4.

The snow changes to rain overnight, goes gray with slush and ice. It matches the sky, still overcast and drizzling faintly, and the only hint of color is the sun as it attempts to bleed through clouds.

Work is early today. An unexpected call at 4:30 in the morning had you up and dressed and out the door by 5 o’clock and by 6 you’re on lead near the port an hour away two cities over. An attempted homicide that was called in by a witness in the area. The culprit had fled, but if there’s one thing you’re good at it’s following a trail.

Luckily, even with the rain there is one to follow.

The mist is lighter by the ocean, but it hangs like a fog. It clings to your fur and you feel the weight of each step as you make your way down the path, nose to ground. To your right is the sea and it smells bloated and angry, the waves rolling against the stones as the tide pulls it in and the rain pulls it up.

Behind you some ways you can still hear Anya’s footsteps and the sound of her voice as it carries over with the ocean breeze. She converses with another group over the police channel, clipped one word answers, and you pay attention with half an ear. You leave her to it.

“No.” Curt, and you glance behind you, momentarily distracted. You see the look on her face, easy to read with the growing stress of the situation. She notices you stare and holds it. “Not Kingston.”

You shake your head and then your body, and the rain releases its hold. A moment later you lower your head, trying to catch the fading scent again.

“East,” Anya says, watching you and when you catch her eyes this time, she gets it. “Toward Johnson’s. Meet us over at Nelson and Water.”

You hear the muffled affirmative and she clips the walkie back onto her belt and you turn back around, picking up the pace.

It's hours, maybe, before there’s even a hint and by then it’s not enough. You’re soaked to the bone, your paws waterlogged and tender, and you hop into the back seat of the cruiser and collapse. The second you stop moving the cold sets in, and Anya slides into the front seat after closing your door and quickly turns on the heat.

“What a fucking waste,” Anya mutters to herself, shrugging out of her windbreaker and tossing it forcefully over onto the passenger side seat. You let out a breath, struggling to contain the chills that rack through you as the car heats up.

She hooks up the walkie, turns the dial for the volume just a tad so the voices outweigh the static, and then shuffles through the glove compartment for her phone. She finds yours first, similar as they are in design, and glances at it briefly before holding it back towards you.

“Clarke,” she says. With one look back at you, Anya puts it aside.

 

* * *

 

You listen to the voicemail back at the station after you change into something dry, but it’s just silence. You hear the click and then nothing. It does nothing to help your mood, and if it weren’t for Anya, you’d be back out there still searching. At the very least she promises to call immediately with any news.

The rain stops by the time you turn down the street towards home. What’s left of the snow is murky puddles and the small pile collected at the end of the road, tracks of mud stretched onto the road.

When you pull into the driveway, the first thing you notice is the extra car. Abby’s. A four-door six-seater she bought purely for the grandkids. It takes up the spot near Clarke’s suburu ascent, so you pull in behind, shift into park, and grab your things from the seat next to you before picking yourself up. Your arms are full as you make your way up towards the front porch, juggling your laptop bag with your computer and notebook, a set of still soggy clothes, and your lunch box.

You can hear the pups in the living room, the television soft but noticeable, and you shut the door quietly behind you, toeing out of your boots. You line them up neatly next to the others despite the mud that tracks and slides slowly off onto the tiny rug by the closet door.

The weight settles then, and you feel it at the back of your neck and shoulders. You let your bag drop, along with your clothes, and you follow your ears towards the soft sound of your children’s voices.

Abby sees you first, stuck in the middle of the group surrounding the coffee table littered with games and coloring books. She smiles at you, and you see the redness to her eyes and the exhaustion… The pups finally notice, and among the shouts and greetings you see Clarke is missing.

Abby grabs hold of Madi before she takes off, pulls her back down next to her. She reads your mind before your voice can catch up. “Upstairs.”

“What’s wrong?” your voice is raw and a little bit of every part of you aches.

“Jake--” and Abby’s voice cracks. She’s unnaturally still until she raises a hand and wipes away the tears before they have a chance to start again.

You turn around, and you know it's rude to leave her there, but you do, moving towards the stairs. You take the steps two at a time, and when you make it to the second floor you feel out of breath. The hallway is dark, but you see the door to your bedroom shut. There’s no sound besides your footsteps, soft with your socks, and then the squeak of the door as you open it.

You see nothing at first. Your room, the bed, the nightstand littered with your books. The bathroom door is left ajar and the light falls across the floor and the rug, stretches out as the only source of light. You don’t notice the lump curled up near your pillows until you take a moment to breathe. Your shoulders droop with the exhale.

“Clarke.”

She opens her eyes, snout tucked under her paws, buried into the folds of the blankets she’s burrowed into, and it used to surprise you when you had met her--the vibrancy in them, how blue they could be, but it doesn’t so much anymore. Seeing her like this, though--clouded and shaking… You finally know what it's like to miss it.

She’s not crying. She simply can’t, and you know that’s the point.

“Oh, Clarke,” you whisper, and you hear her whine. It’s quiet, nothing more than an exhale, but in it you can hear pieces of her as they break. She trembles, and you see it along her shoulders and neck. She pushes herself up, tail dragging limply behind her, and crawls over to the edge of the bed.

You meet her there, knelt down by the bedside. She pushes against you, forehead to forehead, and you close your eyes and breathe in. She smells cold, like the air outside, wet and rainy, and you let the silence be.

“I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

You feel a sudden shift in weight, the tickle of her fur against your skin fading away. In its stead the weight of her arms wraps around your neck, the chill of her bare skin against you.

“Lexa,” she breathes out and it wrenches itself somewhere near your heart.

 

* * *

 

“Mommy?” Madi says sometime later when you make your way downstairs. Abby smiles sadly at you, still stuck in the middle of the pups, and mentions nothing about Clarke’s absence.

“She needs some time alone, Madi.”

“Why?” Lily pipes in, leaning forward onto the coffee table. You look around at the others and they’re all listening.

“She’s sad.”

“Sad?”

“Yes.”

Lily frowns. She looks like she’s ten seconds away from becoming upset herself, Abby rubbing her back in placating circles. She goes to open her mouth but--

“Why she sad?” Jack says. He thinks a moment then he puffs himself up, his grip tightening on the crayon in his hand. “I can make it stop. I can, I’m tough.”

“You’re very tough, Jack, but this isn’t something we can scare away. This takes time.”

He goes quiet and contemplative, Aden beside him watching. Your eldest is unnaturally quiet, pensive and seemingly far older than he has any right to be. His eyes are so much like Clarke’s and you notice how he watches you at the edge of the group, hand wringing the hem of shirt.

“Can we see her?” he says, hesitant yet hopeful, voice tiny and light.

You watch his hands and the way they worry and for a moment you don’t know what to say. “Maybe. In a little bit.”

 

* * *

 

You peer into the dark room and not much has changed. Clarke lies facing away from you, wearing one of your old t-shirts she must have put on when the chill became to much. At the sound of the door she shifts. Her hair falls away from her face and her eyes find yours in the dark..

“Clarke,” you say, but you trail off. Her eyes are still red, cheeks blotchy, and you can hear her stomach growl from here. You’re not sure if you should shoo aside the eager pups for fear of disappointment. You only brought them upstairs because they begged and it looked like Abby needed some time alone for herself. “Would you like some company?”

She rubs a hand across her face, sniffing audibly and it sounds wet, congested.  She does this several times until it proves to be counterproductive and the tears come again, but she nods and you open the door wider. The pups push themselves in.

“Easy,” you say to deaf ears. They scramble up the bed, but they’re gentle, finding places among your sheets as close to Clarke as possible. They don’t ask questions, but you have a feeling they know. They’re perceptive in that way. You help Madi up when you get close and then join the pile on the bed.

It’s a moment of minor chaos as the pups settle, little grunts and kicked legs. You feel Danny’s elbow in your ribs, but Clarke sighs and it sounds a little bit like letting go.

 

5.

There’s no funeral.

Death is personal and that’s just not what you do. You and Clarke take the long drive out back to Maine to meet her family. In the woods so close to your home and hers. There’s a burial, quick and to the point, and compared to the suburbs where you live, the smells are so much richer here. Maybe it's the earth, still moist from the rain and snow, or the sun, bright through the bare trees after so much gray.

Clarke stands close, tucked close to your side as she watches. She doesn’t cry, but you feel her arm tighten around your waist and the press of her face against your shoulder. The shuddering inhale and the slow exhale. You hold her closer.

You spend a few hours after with a small close group of Clarke’s family. Abby, Jake’s brother and his wife and a son who’s Clarke’s age, maybe a little younger.  It’s small. So small compared to what you’re used to, having grown up in the pack you had. Your parents may have left far before their time, but you had Gustus and his sons, your father’s brothers and sisters, Anya and her family… but you’ve always found solace in the peculiar intimacy that was Clarke’s family.

Things have been put away, and the woods seems quieter now after your small group resigns to Clarke’s parent’s cottage just at the edge of town, unsure how to put an end to things like this, and Clarke tolerates it like the trooper she is. She stands off to the side with you by the front porch while Abby and Jake’s brother, John, and his wife, linger in the driveway by the cars. It’s only Damien, who you know to be Clarke’s only cousin, that decides to break the carefully constructed reprieve.

Clarke doesn’t really have time to react, which in hindsight is probably for the best, because without warning he wanders over and scoops her up into a hug. “C.J.” he says, and she lets out this subtle squeak as his arms tighten briefly before setting her down.

“Lexa, how’s everything? I haven’t seen you two in a while” Damien says once the permanent somberness has lessened.

“Busy.” You say, Clarke finding a spot next to you. “How is Sam?”

“Sad she couldn’t make it. I told her not to beat herself up about it, but...” he shrugs. “Got a heart too big for herself.”

“She makes up for you,” Clarke butts in and he clutches his heart, a gasp, mock offended.

He drops his hand a second later with a grin. “True.”

Clarke’s lips twitch, this half smile, and leans into you. Her hand sneaks under your shirt to your skin, and it almost feels like normal.

 

* * *

 

It’s a long drive back in the dark. You offer despite the hour and you’re happy you do when ten minutes after setting off Clarke drifts off in the passenger seat. She sleeps through the entire five hour drive, curled against the passenger door, your work jacket that you keep in the back now used as an improvised pillow. Not even the sound of the car door opening and closing manages to wake her, and you’re able to unbuckle her seatbelt and awkwardly scoop her into your arms.

You have to readjust to open the door, but once you’re inside the rest is simple. Clarke is sound asleep, head against your shoulder and breathing soundly and you toe off your shoes in the foyer, steady as possible. You find Gustus and the pups piled onto the couch in the living room and you’re surprised he’s still awake. He watches the television, the sound on mute and the subtitles scrolling along the bottom of the screen, and he smiles when you stop in the hallway and stare.

“How is she?” he asks, voice just above a whisper.

You glance down at her in your arms, at her messy hair and the tangled strands from five hours pressed against your jacket--the dark circles under her eyes. “Tired.” You look up at him. “Sad.”

Gustus gestures with his head towards the stairs. “I’ve got this under control, Lexa, you take care of what you need to.”

You nod once, idly pressing your lips to Clarke’s forehead before muttering a soft thank you and heading up the stairs.

Once inside your room you lay Clarke gently on the bed, taking off her shoes and putting them aside. She rouses just enough to allow you to help her shimmie out of her pants, and you follow suit when she’s comfortable. Your pants and socks, your dress shirt--you crawl into bed, inching close to Clarke, kissing her softly. Her brows scrunch, but she worms herself closer into your warmth.

 

6.

“Is it done yet?” Lily asks, tugging at your sleeve. You glance down at her for a second before you turn back to work, pulling out the baking dish of mac and cheese from the oven.

“In a minute, we’re almost done.” You glance at the timer on the microwave, and then the pot of hotdogs boiling on the stove. “Can you help Aden with the silverware please?”

She considers for a moment, but does as you ask, waddling after Aden who digs through one of the drawers for some forks. He hands them off to her one by one.

“Jack, Danny, can you reach the plates?” you say, scooping out a piece of macaroni. You blow on it until it cools, and then hold it out to Madi beside you, left hand cupped underneath. “Taste test.”

Madi takes it, chews loudly with her mouth open in a smile. “Mac n’ cheeese,” she says, her tiny hand latched onto your pants. You gently close her mouth, pushing her chin up. She continues chewing with her mouth closed and you turn off the stove as the timer on the microwave sounds.

“Mommy’s favorite,” you say even though you don’t think Madi’s listening anymore. She’s still chewing, but she’s looking over her shoulder at the others.

You grab the extra plate beside you, pulling the boiling pot of hotdogs closer and off the burner. Behind you the clatter of silverware and plates rings dully as Aden helps Jack and Danny set the everything on the table, Lily right behind with the silverware.

The hotdogs get chopped into bite-sized pieces, and you bring the plate and the dish of macaroni and cheese to the table, Madi behind you, and set everything down just as the sound of footsteps reaches your ears.

Clarke appears around the corner, dressed in sweats and a long sleeve shirt, a tad groggy from the nap, and she stares into the kitchen at all the chaos. You finish dishing out the macaroni and divvy up the hot dog pieces until each of them have six, the rest you split (unevenly in her favor) between Clarke and yourself.

Lily runs to her, latches herself to Clarke’s leg, and you turn away to lift Madi into her seat. She’s half situated when you glance back at Clarke and you get stuck. She watches you like you’re the single most lovely thing to happen, tears prickling to life in the corner of her eyes, and you make sure Madi is secure and then go to her.

“Shh,” you hush when you get close, cradling her face between your palms. The tears only get worse. “Shh, no... No, Clarke. It’s okay.”

She smiles, and you kiss her before it disappears. “I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you too, Clarke.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry.”

You lower your book, turning your head to the right. Your chin bumps Clarke’s forehead, her head resting against your shoulder. She plays with the hand idle in your lap, pressing the tips of your fingers with hers, fiddling with the band of your ring, and you let out this short breath through your nose.

“Why are you apologizing?” you say, earnest in your need to understand.

Clarke shakes her head and draws your hand into her lap.

“Clarke,” you sigh. You wait a moment, watching how she studies the way your fingers interlock. You place your hand over hers, your thumb brushing over her wrist. “There’s no reason for you to apologize. It takes as long as it takes, even if that means never.”

Leaning forward, you put aside your book on the coffee table, and then untangle yourself from her. Clarke is reluctant to let go, her grip tightening on your hand. It tethers you to her, and when you pull her up she does so willingly. She bumps into you, chest to chest, and you kiss her while she’s close.

You feel a little resistance when you pull away, and you open your eyes to find Clarke just as close. She’s not looking at you, though. Her eyes are closed, and there’s that telltale pinch between her brows as she breathes.

When she feels you move, reaching for the hem of your shirt, she opens her eyes to watch you slip the garment over your head. For a moment she merely observes, eyes following the movement, content to watch and listen and the tension fades slowly from her face.

“Run with me?” you say softly, and Clarke’s other hand finds your hip.

She nods and you help her out of her shirt. It gets lost with yours on the living room floor.

You go out the back door and the November air is cold and brisk, and Clarke stands in the doorway and simply takes in a lungful of air. You can see the stutter on the exhale, the stream of fog that trickles from her mouth as she looks up at the waning moon and the thin sliver of light it exudes. You rest your hand at the small of her back and her attention shifts to you briefly and in her eyes you see the depths of stars.

She runs until she can’t anymore.

 

7.

You get back just before sunrise, trailing mud and leaves and other manner of things into the hallway. The house is quiet though and you breathe a sigh of relief.

Clarke takes the stairs and you follow closely behind, step for step. Her feet drags, paws heavy and legs no doubt aching. She pushes open your bedroom door and for a second or two you linger as Clarke slips past the threshold. You think it a courtesy, a moment of peace after the strain of your run and you turn your head towards the closed doors of the kid's bedrooms and listen. It's only with the answering silence that you wander inside.

You see Clarke among the stale light of early morning, the paleness of her skin and hair as she disappears into the bathroom. The floor shows signs of her presence, the prints that fade and shift, and the leaves and twigs that no longer have fur to cling to.

At the sound of rushing water from the bathroom you look up, ears perking forward. You shake a bit of the dirt off and then trot closer, letting the familiarity of home weave itself with the rest of you. It feels warm, safe, and you allow that contentedness to change you.

You peer into the bathroom and the darkness is not a hindrance. Clarke sits submerged in the tub, the swirls of steam rising from the water as it fills close to edge. You make your way inside, turning the faucet handle until the water shuts off and all that remains is the sound of the ripples as they settle.

You slip in behind her, and you pull her against you once you’ve made yourself comfortable. She feels weightless in that far off kind of way, and you run your hand gently up and down her arm. She turns her head back but doesn’t look at you, pressing a kiss to your hand when it lingers near her shoulder.

“He was so busy,” Clarke says, and you wrap your arms around her waist and pull her close against you, lips pressed to the back of her shoulder. “ _We_ were busy… And I--I know it's not anyone’s fault, but I. I could’ve done more. I could have seen him more. And now it’s...”

“Clarke.”

“If it weren’t for them he’d--”

“Clarke.”

“It was a mistake.”

“ _Clarke_.” and your voice is firm. Clarke finally quiets. “There’s nothing you could have done.”

And you know that’s a sad thought, but it's the truth. Clarke leans forward, away from you, and you stare at the gold strands of her hair that cling wetly to the plane of her back. You don’t know how long the silence lasts, but you let it for however long it needs to.

Clarke takes your hand after a minute or two, and you can’t see her face but you know she’s trying to make out the shape of the two of you together beneath the water. You close your fingers around hers and she lets you draw her back to you.

You like the weight. “This will have its place,” you say as you draw your interlocked hands out of the water. The rivulets run between your palms, and Clarke lets you pull them closer for inspection, resigned to the attention she knew would follow.

There’s the gentle ‘plop’ of the droplets as they slide from your skin into the water, and you test the tenderness to Clarke’s palm with careful fingers. The redness is overwhelming, raw, and tiny slices near her nails split from the cold and rough winter debris. They’re more than done bleeding though and will heal within a day or two.

“Do you ever miss them?” Clarke whispers, and you know what will follow before she speaks it. “Your parents.”

You don’t say anything, not right away. You lower your hands until they’re submerged again, holding tight as the water around you cools.

You whisper back, “Of course.”

 

 

 


	15. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should've had this done forever ago but i kinda didn’t want to admit that it was over? this story is far from perfect, and maybe in time i’ll go through and fix the things that bother me, but right now i’ll leave it be. A part of me is glad its over, glad that i finished it, but i know i’ll start to miss it sooner rather than later. and thank you again! i hope you all enjoyed and as always you can find me over at kokkoro on tumblr.

 

1.

November passes slowly, but it passes like everything else, and for that you’re grateful. December opens cold. Frost coating the ground and a chance of rain, though the clouds keep it at bay long into the day. It breaks just as you pull into the driveway with takeout, Aden and Jack in the backseat bouncing with energy and hunger.

The three of you make a break for it, and the two of them giggle as they race up towards the front door, you in last with the bags.

“Shoes!” you call when Aden manages to wrangle the front door open, Jack scooting in ahead. Your oldest waits by the open door and when you get close you urge him inside.

Lily and Danny greet you in the hallway, rushing towards you, and you lift the bags to avoid any inquiring fingers as Aden darts off towards kitchen.

“What’s in the bags, momma?” Danny sniffs and a second later her eyes go wide. “Hamburger? Is it hamburger?”

“Yes,” you say, lifting your arms higher. “But we have to wait.”

“Where the toys?” Lily asks, reaching for you with her tiny hands. She latches on to the edge of your jacket, following your lead in this awkward shuffle towards the kitchen.

“No toys.They’ll just end up in someone’s mouth.”

Clarke wanders the kitchen, grabbing plates and napkins. The dark circles under her eyes aren’t as apparent anymore and when she catches you entering the kitchen, Aden at her heels chattering a mile a minute, she smiles.

You place the bags on the table, unloading one by one. They each have their own order, little kids sized portions from children’s menu, and you unwrap each one and place it on a plate. A chicken wrap with extra sauce for Aden, no tomatoes for Lily. A hamburger with bacon for Danny, ketchup and mustard included, roast beef for Jack. A basket of chicken fingers for Madi, and then a large steak sandwich which you’ll share with Clarke, along with a to-go cup of macaroni and cheese just for her.

It takes close to fifteen minutes to get everything unpacked, and then another five to get everything situated and ready to go on some paper plates. A movie plays on the television and you have the coffee table pushed aside to make room for pile of blankets and pillows stretched out in front of the couch.

Clarke is the last to finish, picking through her small cup of macaroni meticulously and patiently. You watch her instead of the movie and you know she knows you are. She ignores you, or pretends to, spearing the remaining macaroni individually to prolong the inevitable, and you’d feel jealous if it weren’t for the fact that she’s told you she liked yours better.

Her smile widens until it’s impossible to hide. She sets the empty styrofoam cup of macaroni aside and settles in beside you, her chin resting on your shoulder.

“My moon and stars,” you whisper, and Clarke’s lips twitch but she leans in closer to kiss you. Her lips land on the side of your neck and then shifts up to your lips and it tastes like macaroni and cheese. It is also, perhaps, more intense than you were expecting, and for a moment your left stumbling, but you smile and lean in, your noses smushing.

Clarke leans imperceptibly away. “You’re cheesier than the macaroni,” she says, still close, and you love the way her voice is rough in the middle.

“But is it working?”

“Yes,” she murmurs, kissing you again, and this time she makes it linger. “Very much.”

You’re smiling when you press together with her again, and your movements are slow and meant to be savored. The television fades and falls to the background, unimportant, and for a blissful moment it's just the two of you in your own space, but you feel small hands at your cheek, poking and prodding, and you’re pulled reluctantly from Clarke’s lips after one last quick kiss.

“Me too, me too,” Lily says as she tugs your face away, hands on your cheeks and she’s not satisfied until she has your full attention. She holds your stare, a stalemate as she waits for you to respond and when you do she squeals.

You capture her in the circle of your arms, your mouth in the crook of her neck, blowing raspberries. Lily wiggles, feet kicking, but doesn’t make an effort to escape from your arms as Madi pounces, stretched to circle her arms around your neck and hang. Two distinct thuds hit you simultaneously as Jack and Danny collide into you without warning, and you topple over among the blankets. 

 

* * *

 

You don’t get very far that night, two steps into your room once things are put away and the pups are put to sleep. Clarke crowds you back against the closed door kisses you soundly. Your mind wipes pleasantly blank at the touch of her lips against yours and the rhythm you find with her is as exciting as it is relaxing. You get lost in it, there with your back against the door that when she pulls away it takes a second for you to realize she has.

Clarke’s eyes are half lidded, chest heaving and lips red and swollen. You feel for the edges of her sweater and tug her back, pulling at it distractedly until she lifts her arms and lets you tug it off. The sweater falls into a heap on the floor at your feet when you let go and you reach out for the softness of her hips, trailing up towards the dip and flare just under her ribs.

“I should talk cheesy to you more often,” you tease, a subtle grin to your lips Clarke is eager to wipe away. She presses close, breasts and stomach flush, and you wish it was skin to skin.

“Any more and I’d have to eat you,” she murmurs, lips finding the underside your chin and you inhale this sharp intake of breath at the feeling.

“Are you propositioning me?”

“Trying to. Is it working?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

She drags you back to bed, both of you stumbling, bumping into one another as you shed clothes along the way. She helps you with your shirt, eager, and then finds the drawstrings of your sweats and pulls until you both topple onto the bed on after the other.

Laughter is muffled against skin, and she rests her weight against you, moving to straddle your waist. Her fingers find the underside of your chin, tilting your head back and you accept the kiss, your eyes drifting shut. You focus on the weight above you, on the happy little hums that escape Clarke’s lips as she places kiss after kiss onto your skin. You could get drunk off the promise of it, you’re sure.

You’re certain you’re already halfway there.

 

 

2.

All it takes for your house to descend into chaos is a knock at the front door. Madi immediately locks in on the noise even half asleep in your lap and starts to squirm while Jack bolts upright from his spot on the floor towards the front door and Aden is just a step behind. Clarke shares a look with you from the other side of the couch, Danny and Lily already gone.

“Door, momma,” Madi says as she wiggles ungracefully from your lap and then down onto the floor. Her tiny shirt bunches around her belly and you manage to reach out and tug it back into place before she slips away towards the others.

A mess of excited voices rises in volume in the hall and the creak of the door as it opens, and then Anya’s voice muffled by the excitement.  You lean back against the couch and Clarke glances at you beside her.

“Did you know she was coming?” Clarke asks, and you give a one shoulder shrug, reaching for her hand with your right.

“She told me it was a possibility.”

Anya appears around the corner, both hands occupied as Lily and Madi practically drag her into the living room. She’s half slouched, Aden on her back with his arms around her neck, quietly giggling, Jack and Danny each occupy a leg.

“Anni!” Madi exclaims and it feels like an announcement as she drags Anya forward with all her twenty pound might. Both of her hands are latched onto Anya’s left and you can see the annoyed amusement on Anya’s face as clear as day. You share a look with with her, your thumb brushing idly over Clarke’s knuckles.

“I can see that,” you reply with this slight smirk in Anya’s direction.

Anya stands there, motionless in your living room, her arms wave as Lily and Madi shake them like ragdolls, and deapans, “I’m being mauled.”

“Their bark is worse than their bite,” you say, and Anya smirks back.

It's a second, and then suddenly Anya shakes herself. Aden’s giggles amplifies, his grip tightening and Danny and Jack hold on for dear life. Madi and Lily scatter, squealing with laughter and when she she stops, Danny and Jack fall off onto the floor.

Clarke shakes her head beside you, but you know she’s just as amused as you.

Anya lets Aden down gently, crouching until his kicking feet find the floor. He slips free once he deems it safe, and Anya reaches out and ruffles his hair playfully.

“I got something for you,” Anya says after she pulls her hand away, quiet if not for the fact that it’s not just Aden who hears. She reaches into her jacket pocket, and then hands him this small package wrapped in what looks like a cut up brown paper bag.

“Where’s mine?” Jack asks, having roused himself from the floor and wandered closer.

“Is it your birthday tomorrow?” Anya says, and she waits a beat as if to prove a point. “I don’t think so. I’ll see you in July.”

Aden turns and scrambles over to the couch, holding out the little package in one hand while he uses the other to clamber up onto the couch. “Can I open it, momma?”

“That’s not up to me,” you say, watching as he finds a spot next to you. “Anya is the one who gave it to you.”

He looks up, over to where Anya still stands. Madi has taken her hand again, tugging, but Anya smiles, shrugs. “Go for it, kiddo.”

Aden pulls impatiently at the string and then the paper. Once it’s torn clean off, all that remains is this little book and Aden’s face lights up. “Look!” he says, showing it off. The cover reads: The Incredible Journey.

“I know you love the movie,” Anya says “And if you look inside there might be a little something extra.”

Aden’s head tilts, confused, but a second later he pulls out a ten dollar bill from the inside front cover flap.

Anya grins. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

 

* * *

 

“That was rather nice of you,” you say and Anya shrugs, leaning her weight against the table as you finish brewing a late pot of coffee.

“I had to make up for last year.”

“He probably doesn’t even remember.”

“Still, I don’t want to take any chances.” She turns, peaks across the hall into the living room where the pups have Clarke trapped underneath them on the couch, a familiar movie playing in the background. “That kid has one hell of a memory.”

“Admit you have a favorite.”

“And you don’t?”

“I don’t,” you say.

 

 

3.

Aden goes to school with a tray of cupcakes that you don’t expect to get back but you do. He takes the bus home, a new and welcome occurrence, and he fishes the tray, licked clean, from the large compartment of his backpack. At least he remembered to bring it home.

He tells you about it while you make snacks, up on his stool while he watches you cut the celery. Early morning reading and writing, arts and crafts, the games before lunch, and then the cupcakes. He gets stuck on that for a while.

“And then, and then. Momma, they sang happy birthday and we all got to eat the cupcakes. I got two!”

“Is that so,” you say, paying careful attention to the knife and your fingers, but your heart feels close to bursting, your lips stuck in a smile.

“It was so cool, momma.”

The front door opens, squeaks on its hinges, and it’s almost comical the way your head turns in sync with the pups toward the hall.  What causes this all out smile, is the wave of excitement that washes over the group as Clarke makes her way into the kitchen with a bag of groceries, how Aden hops down from his stool and collides face first into her legs.

Clarke sets aside the bag and cradles Aden’s face in her palms, bending to kiss the top of his head. “The birthday boy,” she says, and Aden pulls back to beam up at her. “Did you eat all the cupcakes?”

He shakes his head. “I shared,” Aden says with a firm nod of his head. She gives him another kiss for good measure and then shoos him playfully away.

Clarke meets you by the counter, tucking herself against your back, her nose pressed into your neck. Her inhale is quiet, but your hear it, subtle, and you feel the way she relaxes in increments.

“He was just so small? When we found him,” Clarke begins, muffled into your shoulder. She watches your hands, the careful precision as you set up the plate of snacks. “I don't know. I mean, can you believe that?”

“Believe what, Clarke?”

“He was like this.” She pulls away slightly, just enough so she can cup her hands in the space between you, and it's an exaggeration but you get the gist. The smile spreads. “And now he’s…” and she holds her arm above her head.

“That’s a rather steep exaggeration,” you say, closing the distance to her. She pulls you in by the waist, and you glance over to where Aden is once again recounting his birthday tales to Lily who listens with rapt attention. “Last I saw he still needed help reaching the middle shelf of the fridge.”

“Lexa.”

You kiss her cheek. “I know what you mean.”

“It’s a little insane to think about,” she says almost wistfully. “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that. He started it all.”

“Having second thoughts?”

“No.” Clarke shakes her head and her eyes find yours. “I’m glad we made it.”

 

 

7.

Everywhere you look it’s christmas.

Your neighbors set up twinkling lights and inflatable decorations in their front yard, hanging from the roofs, and it would be a shock had it not happened the same way last year. It still takes you a little aback though, seeing it, and it makes Clarke laugh.

The station is much of the same. Davis has taped little lights around the front entrance, and Mrs. Kean has this fake pine tree she brought in from home sitting on the top of her desk. Even Anya manages to sneak in a colorful wreath and stick it to your office door. You celebrate, if only to share in the revelry but you have a hunch that the officers think you’re a scrooge. Which is hardly the truth. They just don’t know you well enough.

Yet. You figure that will change in a minute or two when you wander out after being paged to find Clarke and the pups waiting for you in the main area.

It is a sight to see. Bundled up in their winter jackets and hats, the sight of them makes your heart stutter and stop and start back up again. Lily’s blonde hair half sticking out from under her beanie. She sticks close to Clarke’s legs, eyes unable to focus as she takes in the chaos that is your work. Madi ignores it, letting go of Clarke’s hand to rush towards you. It's a half jog half waddle and you scoop her up and settle her on your hip.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” you whisper as Clarke steps into your space, kissing you briefly on the lips.

“We were on our way by,” Clarke says with this subtle shrug of her shoulder.

“Oh my god, Woods, are these yours?” Davis says, swiveled around in her chair to look at the commotion you’ve gathered in the precinct.

“They are,” you reply. Madi tucks herself into the crook of your neck, perhaps a little embarrassed, her hold tight. Danny uses your legs as a buffer as she scopes out the unfamiliar faces staring back at her. Clarke grins.

 _Yours_.

“My wife, Clarke,” you say, and her grin melts into a smile. She waves a gloved hand, and you watch the flush spread over her cheeks. You get stuck for a moment, looking at her, and it takes a second to shake yourself out of it. You think everyone sees, but you move on. “And here we have Madi, Lily, Danny, Jack, and Aden.”

Davis waves, and the response she gets back from the others causes this fit of contagious giggles. Lily hides her face against the back of Clarke’s legs, but Aden waves back while Jack looks on, still deciding. His mouth is pursed and there’s a wrinkle in his brow while he thinks.

“They’re adorable,” Davis says.

“They’re a bunch of rascals,” Anya butts in just loud enough to hear, and you turn to catch the grin on her face. “Like their parents.”

“Liam is handful all by himself,” Kevin moves up to stand beside Davis’ desk, arms crossed an a amused smirk. He’s your senior by about ten years, mid forties. You haven’t met his son but you’ve seen the pictures. “I can’t even imagine five.”

You look down at Madi in your arms, her nose cold against your neck but warming slowly. She breathes out this content sigh, wiggling closer. “We make do.”

 

 

15.

You see Clarke’s eyes lose focus as she goes through the christmas boxes you pulled down from the attic, the kids around her on the couch, and you know the nostalgia has taken hold of her. She thumbs an ornament from her childhood, and you know its significance, but you turn around towards the tree and double check it’s secure in the stand.

As long as the pups don’t mess with it, it will be.

You backtrack towards the coffee table for the string lights, but you see the tangled mess and decide to tackle that after a quick break. You sink into the end of the sofa and Lily crawls over into your lap and sits with her back against your chest.

“Can I see it?” Jack asks, reaching out for the ornament Clarke holds. He manages to see the look you cast him and adds, “Please.”

Clarke takes a moment to think but hands it over. It's a glass heart with the Clarke’s name and birthday etched onto the front, and you know on the back Jake carved his initials. It’s old, and the age is clear in the off color of its transparency.

Jack turns it curiously in his palms, tiny fingers tracing the edges and carvings. He holds it up to his eyes, peers through the facets of the glass. He beams at the way the lights pass through, but for a split second his grip falters, and the

Clarke’s eyes widen as she jerks forward to catch it, but it’s short lived.  She exhales when she notices it’s still safe in Jack’s tiny hands and leans back against the couch with a sigh. She pushes the hair away from her face, presses her fingers against her eyes. “Please, please be careful with that.”

A sincere look of remorse captures Jack’s features, and he glances down at the object he holds with a newfound perspective. He doesn’t understand, but he’s gentler in his approach.

He holds it back out to her.

Clarke’s hand drops, and she observes Jack’s outstretched hands a moment too long before accepting its return. She cradles the heart in her palm before setting it carefully aside.

“Help me with the lights?” you mutter to Lily, reaching around her for the bundle of tangled bulbs and wire on the coffee table. You set the pile over your laps and Lily digs her fingers into the mess.

She’s not much help. More of a hindrance really. Madi plays by herself near Clarke’s feet under the coffee table, but the rest join you in untangling the lights, pulling at the strings until something gives. You glance Clarke’s way every now and again, but she’s quiet as she rummages through the remaining boxes for a couple more decorations. She pulls out a few more strings of lights, and then picks herself up from the couch.

Your attention follows her, and you reach out to gently capture her wrist before she escapes. “Are you okay?”

Clarke nods. “Just gonna clear my head,” she answers as Lily glances up from the mess and looks between the both of you. You let go of her wrist and Clarke dips down to kiss you before disappearing into the hallway.

It’s thirty minutes maybe by the time you hear the creak of the back door as it opens and the tell-tale clack of claws along the hardwood. You’re nearly done with the lights, the strings stretched over the floor, plugged into the far socket to test for dead bulbs when Clarke appears around the corner, head low and tail wagging. The kids notice immediately.

The colors of the lights mix across Clarke’s fur and Lily squeals at the sight so you let her go. She runs that loping puppy run, all limbs and movement, and Clarke dips down onto her front paws and welcomes her.

Lily clings, arms thrown around Clarke’s neck, and her voice is garbled as she talks. Behind her, Clarke’s tail swipes back and forth across the floor, and she whines until the others clamber down from the couch (Madi crawling from underneath the table). You notice the change in movement, the excitement they can’t seem to keep under lock as tufts of fur sprout from their napes and trail under the collars of their shirts. They recognize safety when they see it.

Jack stays near you though, looking on as if the invitation somehow didn’t extend to him. He grips the edge of his shirt, eyes pleading, and you shake your head in exasperation and gently  coax him off the couch.

“Go on,” you whisper. “She’s not mad at you, Jack.”

Once situated on the floor, he stumbles over towards the group, timid, and it reminds you of those first few days way back when. Clarke’s tail wags faster, and the moment he steps close with the other, he’s greeted warmly. Soft ticklish kisses Clarke scatters over his face, and you know things can only get better from here.

 

 

22.

“Did you remember your coat?” you ask, taking a moment to rest your weight against the wall and watch Clarke shimmy a beanie low over Madi’s ears.

“Yes,” Clarke says, smiling at Madi who nips at her fingers when it’s becomes clear to even her that Clarke’s going to start fussing. Clarke quickly kisses the tip of her nose before Madi can tell her otherwise. “It’s already in the car.”

“Are you going to wear it?”

Clarke stands, stuffing her hands into the front pocket of her sweats, eyes trailing after her daughter as she joins the makishift line in front of Aden as he helps the others zipper their coats.

“Maybe,” she says with a shrug, this tease of a smile. She throws you a look over her shoulder. “I don’t know, I haven’t decided.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“Are you bringing one?” she asks with this deceptively innocent tilt of her head.

You narrow your eyes. “Yes.”

“Then probably no.”

You exhale this soft growl and reach out to pull her closer, placing a kiss over the curve of her jaw once you have her. Underneath your skin you can feel a familiar itch and you’re ready to see it through. “If you get cold later…”

“I know, I know. It’s my fault.”

 

* * *

 

A soft, thin coat of snow blankets the earth, covering the low patches of grass and crushed leaves. It’s quiet, gentle in a way that belies its nature, and you sit and observe the way it works. Calming is a nice way to put it. After the two or so hours spent exploring the woods, you watch from the back hatch of the car as the drifts catch the pull of the wind, and it’s hard not to find at least a little bit of peace in it.

Clarke huddles next you, side to side, and you feel her shiver when a gust swirls into the back of the car. She shivers, and you feel a slight nudge when she presses her snout into your fur and breathes.

You take your eyes off the darkening landscape, the moon hidden behind the dark expanse of sky and clouds, and watch the way Clarke’s eyes blink slowly, shuffling her front paws as they start to slip in weariness.

She’s waiting for you, and you figure it’s best to listen.

You prod her with the tip of your nose, a gentle bump to the side of her head and her ears flick at the touch. She nips at your neck in retaliation but you don’t really feel it. It only serves to further gather your attention. Clarke turns around, stepping carefully around the sleeping pups before finding a spot near the back.

Once she’s settled, you slink across the small bed of the car and curl up behind her. You’re eager for the warmth you share.

 

 

24.

“Are they asleep yet?” Clarke mutters into your neck, draped over you on the couch. You fold your book down on her back, holding your page with your thumb, and listen.

You don’t hear much besides the usual. Your house which feels more like a home and all its familiar creaks and sounds, but you don’t really feel like moving, comfortable as you are, and the thought of setting up for tomorrow morning sounds quite honestly like the last thing you want to do so you pick up your book and lie.

“Afraid not.”

Clarke grumbles something intelligible against your skin, and you flip to the next page as she turns her head and relaxes again. A couple minutes later she asks, “How ‘bout now?”

“No,” you say softly, hiding your smile in the kiss you press to the top of her head.

 

 

25.

Your house is already an amalgamation of noise by the time noon passes and your house fills to near capacity. Squeals of laughter echo from the hallway as pups dart in between legs and around furniture, the nonstop sound of the fridge as it’s pulled open and bottles clink. You’re tuned to the sound of Clarke’s voice as she discusses the proper temperature at which turkey cooks with her mother.

They’re both wrong, and you step in before dinner is ruined before it even starts.

Clarke steals a kiss when you shoo her away, oddly smug, as though she tricked you into cooking and perhaps she did. She’s back ten minutes later to help, however, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“How are you?” you mutter underneath the noise, dipping your head in Clarke’s direction in order to obtain some semblance of privacy. Clarke nudges back and shrugs, reaching for the bag of carrots and the peeler.

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “Happy.” She stops and thinks, her hands motionless. You nuzzle the side of her head, breathing in the scent of her.  “Sad.”

“I understand.”

Her hands finally move and you give her space, watching as she reaches for a carrot and begins to sheer. “He loved this more than anyone,” she says, and she keeps herself focused, rolling the carrot over to you once it is ready to be chopped. “It doesn’t feel right without him, but things go on, I guess.”

“How’s it going over there?” your cousin Barrett calls, and you turn around to see him leaning into the kitchen with a grin. Like all of Gustus’ sons, he’s tall and built like a bear with dark hair and dark eyes, but full of fluff and everyone knows it.  “Are you bothering the chef, Clarke?”

She looks over to him, the earlier sadness falling away into that particular fond annoyance reserved for your cousins. He shrinks at the accusing glare, grinning sheepishly, and when a gaggle of pups knocks into his legs, he uses the distraction to scoop one up.

“Carry on,” he says to Clarke with an approving nod, little Artigas staring up at his uncle in a confusion that causes your lips to quirk and Clarke to shake her head. He wanders back into the group gathered in the living room, and the pups scamper behind him.

You turn back, chopping the pile Clarke has accumulated for you. It’s simple, and it keeps your attention, but even with nothing left to do Clarke lingers.

“If you need a break…” you start, but Clarke doesn’t move. She leans into you, drops her head to your shoulder.

“You make me happy.”

 

* * *

 

Your family is too big to eat dinner around a table, so you set everything up with Clarke and Abby’s help and let the wolves have at it. The turkey practically disappears within seconds, and you’re grateful for the honey glazed ham Gustus prepared just in case.

That goes too.

Once it’s all done the lot of you spread out among the kitchen and the living room, playing games or making small talk. You’ve procured a spot for yourself on the floor with the pups, enjoying the simplicity of their play while you listen to the other adults talk around you. It’s some form of tag and you’re always it.

You reach for Madi, but she giggles around the thumb in her mouth and twists away. She watches you just out of your reach, glancing between you and her siblings and cousins, and waits to see if you’ll make chase. When the sense of danger subsides she wanders closer again. You snag her this time, pulling her into your lap.

Her laughter is all from her belly, full and loud and it fills your chest with warmth. “Momma,” and she descends into more giggles, tucking her chin to her chest. “Tickles.”

You relent, letting her go, and she teeters away still fighting the last remnants of laughter, glancing back only once before attempting to rejoin the others. She gets distracted by Clarke, however, who, on her way over to you, bends down to quickly fix the unruly hairs sticking up on her head. She escapes before Clarke can finish, however, and you watch the whole body sigh that follows as a result.

Clarke reaches you momentarily, lowering herself down onto the floor, sticking close into your side. You bump your nose against her cheek, focused on the way her lips split into an almost smile. You kiss her then, off to the side of her mouth, and when it gets you the smile you were hoping for you do it again.

“I missed you, too,” she teases quietly, and you take her lips properly this time.

“You kiss her too much,” comes Anya’s voice from across the room, and there’s a few offhand chuckles of laughter that you pay no mind to.

You pull away, shaking your head. “I don’t kiss her enough.”

 

 

 


End file.
